


Auf Wiedersehen, Boy

by invisibledeity



Series: God Complex [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: (at least mostly), Anal Sex, Bad Touch Chancellor, Blackmail, Canon Compliant, Choking, Dissociation, Dominance, Drowning, Everything is awful, Finger Fucking, Gaslighting, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild Praise Kink, Nightmares, Nonconsensual Touching, Oral Sex, PTSD, Poor Prompto, Rape, Sexual Harrassment, Spoilers for Chapter 13, i fucking hate ardyn ok, most definitely not romantic, spoilers for chapter 7, the promptis content is light but pure, there you go have some promptis too, well it's kinda promdyn but not really as it's all very one-sided, whoops turned up the heat on the archive tags there, yet another fic in which ardyn is an insufferable bastard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-13
Updated: 2017-03-22
Packaged: 2018-09-24 03:38:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 29,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9697907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/invisibledeity/pseuds/invisibledeity
Summary: Prompto takes a very ill-advised selfie next to Ardyn's car. This is a story about forests, mythril hunting, and what happens when a lamb walks into a lion's den.





	1. Voyeur

**Author's Note:**

> An idea I got after noticing that during my playthrough, Prompto had managed to take a selfie next to Ardyn’s car at Steyliff Grove (seriously: https://chocobutt-trash.tumblr.com/post/156862864926/um-prompto-this-is-the-dumbest-idea-for-a-selfie). Now either he didn’t recognise the car, or he felt like courting danger, but either way he was goofing around and thus, an idea was born. I haven’t seen many fics set around the Vesperpool, and I think it’s a pretty good place for some situational drama, especially considering Gladio’s out of the party at this point.
> 
> The title is lifted from a fantastic song by Zeromancer that you should definitely check out (Also, the song Noctis is listening to is Sleepers by Steve Hackett, very much the kind of thing I imagine him listening to). I have to add that I absolutely love the Prompto/Ardyn dynamic, although I don’t condone anything about Ardyn’s behaviour. I’ve met far too many people like him in the past and there’s an awful ill feeling I get whenever he pops up in the game, but somehow writing this has been incredibly cathartic. Or maybe I’m just a sinner.
> 
> So, without further ado, here we go.

The mist hadn’t stopped hanging thick and heavy since they crossed the blockade. All the way down the mountain into the sunken vale of the Vesperpool, it clawed its way up from the dewy earth, clinging to the mountain’s slopes like it was reluctant to leave. The convertible’s roof was up, and the air conditioning on full blast to clear the windscreen. Prompto idly watched water droplets coalesce and stream down the glass like veins.

        Ignis drove, as usual. He barely took his eyes off the road, shifting his attention only to sip at the open can of coffee by the gearstick. Noctis was stretched out on the back seat, flicking through songs with the MP3 remote. The question of the empty space beside him went unasked.

        Prompto sighed. He didn’t like this atmosphere. He wanted to do something to lift it, but no words came to mind. What could he say? Everything he could imagine coming out of his mouth was too happy, too _fake_. It would just make the situation worse.

        So he continued watching the drops of condensation form and fall in endless continuum. He had one elbow against the window, his hand ruffling through his hair for lack of anything else to do. He didn’t care that it was slowly stripping each strand of the product he’d lavished upon it that morning. With this humidity, it was going to happen anyway the instant they got out the car.

        Noctis stopped the MP3 player on a melancholy song. Acoustic guitars, lots of reverb. A voice that sounded old and sad instead of young and fiery. Not Prompto’s first choice, for sure. There goes Noct, getting his feelings out with song yet again.

        For the hundredth time, Prompto wondered why Gladio had left them. It didn’t make any sense. Out of everyone in the group, he was the one most trained to protect Noctis. Ignis was more of an advisor than a bodyguard, and Prompto himself was just a school friend, with minimal training aside from firing a gun. And even then he felt like he missed half the time anyway. Now they were off to a remote part of the continent to find mythril for the boat, underpowered and under duress.

        The car broke through the layer of pine trees into deciduous birches and wide-leaved shrubs. Further down, by the water’s edge, Prompto could see trees that looked more like mangroves. The music swelled and he caught the lyrics, something about dreaming, train tracks, breaking from darkness into light. It felt familiar, although he couldn’t explain why. Perhaps Noct had played it before. Either way, a chill crept up his arms. He never liked the idea of unshakeable destiny, and what better to illustrate that than train tracks?

        He wondered if someone had pulled Gladio away from the group on purpose. Then he second-guessed himself. Not a good time to be getting paranoid. He’d only depress the mood even further that way.

        Ignis turned off onto a dirt track, pulling over in a small lay-by where the glyphs of a camping site could be seen glowing blue and somber. The music cut off just as it broke into a threatening chorus. Prompto could have sworn he heard Noct groan agitatedly in the sudden silence that followed. Ignis pulled the handbrake then loosened his seatbelt in one fluid motion, pretending not to hear.

        ‘Here we are, chaps. Let’s orient ourselves, shall we?’

        Noctis just grunted and flung the MP3 remote onto Gladio’s seat before tumbling out the car. Prompto grabbed the metal edge of the door and hopped out the passenger’s side, managing to give himself an electric shock on the wrist as he did so. He yelped, shook out his hand, rubbing the sore spot until the tingling had gone. Ignis merely raised an eyebrow, and Noct barely registered the event. Prompto bit down softly on his lip, moving his wrist out of sight of the others in what had become an automatic reflex, and threaded his thumb under the leather cuff, tracing circles over his barcode tattoo. The cuff hid it well under the guise of fashion.

        He directed his anxiety back at the car door. It was fine: static shocks happened to everyone. It didn’t have to mean anything.

        Just the same, it made him feel ill. He gave his wrist one last shake, then forced a spring in his step as he joined his companions down the mudded track and into the hazy vegetation beyond.

        ‘We should search the east banks,’ Noctis murmured. His almond eyes darted from tree to tree before focussing intently. ‘That dense patch. Gotta be there.’

        ‘The thicket? I should expect so,’ said Ignis. ‘The sanctuary’s unlikely to be out in the open if privy to such a valuable mineral as mythril.’

        ‘Ha ha, I’ll be myth-thrilled when we find it!’ Prompto smiled the self-satisfied smile of someone who knew full well how terrible the pun he’d just made was.

       ‘Agh, quit it.’ Noctis swatted him away, but playfully enough. Good. He’d almost gotten Noctis to smile. Just had to try a little harder, but not so much as to be too obvious.

       He made small talk as they delved deeper into the thicket, splashing through puddles and almost tripping over tree roots, until he noticed something that made him stop in his tracks.

       ‘Hah, check it out. An abandoned car! Sweet ride, too.’ He skipped over a rather large sodden root, catching his belt on the edge of a bush as he entered the small clearing.

       He sauntered over to the car, taking in its dull maroon hue and the bold white racing stripe that split it from head to toe. He bent down to examine the decal on the driver’s door ( _Constellation?_ What did that mean?), all the while getting the distinct feeling he was under supervision. And indeed he was: back at the edge of the clearing, Ignis was standing with crossed arms, giving him the _stop being a bad influence_ expression. Too late - Noctis had already joined him in his examination of the strange vehicle.

       The prince stopped beside Prompto and sniffed. ‘Doesn’t look half as abandoned as most we’ve seen so far. Still smell the gas.’

       Then Ignis’s voice, tinged with worry. ‘It looks rather too familiar for my liking. I suggest we steer clear and continue on our way.’

       ‘Buzzkill,’ Prompto said. Noctis was interested, and he wasn’t about to pass up the chance to lighten his mood. ‘Hey Noct, hold this for me.’ He fished his camera from his pocket and handed it to the surprised prince. ‘Now shoot!’ And he struck a pose in front of the stranger’s car, giving his best goofy expression.

       Then Noctis did it - he actually smiled. _Yes, finally._ Prompto felt his chest rise. He relaxed his pose, then struck another, this time more sultry, with a pout and a lean in to the windshield as an extra touch. Noct took the photo then all but collapsed laughing.

       ‘You giant dork.’

        He chuckled, retrieved the camera from his friend and gave him a high five. ‘I learn from the best.’

        ‘Hey!’

       Prompto laughed and dodged the incoming swipe Noctis had aimed at his head. Then he returned to his examination of the car. ‘Hmm… there’s nothing else here?’ He peered through the windows at the driver’s seat. Nothing. A few sheets of paper were strewn over the back seats, but they didn’t look that enlightening. Spreadsheets or something. He lost interest until he saw a photograph peeking out from behind them. Who was it of?

       ‘All right, let’s stop creeping on the stranger’s car,’ Noctis said, waving a hand nonchalantly.

       ‘I’m not creeping!’

       ‘Heh, whatever.’

       Prompto frowned but got no reaction. He returned to trying to decipher the image hidden on the backseat. It was someone with black hair - a girl? A straight fringe, who did that remind him of?

       A strange heady scent mixed with the damp in the air, drifting in seemingly out of nowhere. It reminded him of sandalwood and pine, and it was notable enough to draw his attention away from the vehicle. He glanced about himself somewhat warily.

       Noct was already walking away. Ignis called out to Prompto before following suit.

       ‘Come on, Prompto, we’re leaving.’

        Offhandedly, he replied, ‘There in a jiffy!’ But he didn’t race to catch up like normal. He felt… odd. And he wasn’t quite sure how to explain it, but it was like his mind was stuck just a few inches away from his body. Unable to figure out if it was apprehension about reaching the mythril site, or just the chill from the bad weather, he ended up staring at the car’s maroon paint quite hypnotically.

       A voice dripping with honey and laden with danger interrupted him.

       ‘You should listen to your mother, boy.’

        His blood ran cold while his hair stood on end, and he felt the hot, unbearable presence of something _other_ behind him, something ferocious and very much alive. He span round.

        Gazing intensely at him with amber eyes was the Chancellor of Niflheim. _Ardyn._

        His mahogany hair was coarse and dark in the humid air, and his many layered clothes with their intricate patterns were beaded with condensation, like he had been walking around outside for a while. Prompto could tell all this because the man was far too close to him, and seemed intent on reducing the remaining distance with every passing second. And in those precious few seconds between him first noticing the Chancellor and regaining his senses enough to speak, his mind raced in futility like a rodent on a running wheel.

        So much had happened since the incident at the Disc of Cauthess, it was no wonder he’d not recognised the damn car. And to be fair, the last time he’d seen it, he’d been more preoccupied with the whole _sharing a caravan with Ardyn_ thing.

         He didn’t want to think about it, but Ardyn was so close it was an impossibility to shut the thought out. He felt the ghost of a memory - Ardyn’s fingers on his throat, his chin - and he recoiled until the car door stopped him. Ardyn smiled, twisted face lighting up like he’d just been offered a delectable treat, and the sickness intensified in the pit of Prompto’s belly.

        ‘I - I’ll…’ He floundered for words, voice cracking before escaping his throat. Then he started to call for Ignis.

        ‘Hush now, boy. You wouldn’t want to risk attracting… the _wrong_ kind of attention, would you?’

        The menacing words, gently spoken, urged him into stillness. The hairs on his skin bristled as Ardyn leaned in and took hold of each upper arm in a slow, strong grip. He winced as fingers dug into skin, then held his breath, hating himself for making such a weak noise.

        Was there any point in asking what he wanted? Would it even get him anywhere? He didn’t want to play into whatever game Ardyn was going for here. So he stilled his shivering skin, and decided it was better to just wait. Brow furrowed, he stared steadfast, watching Ardyn’s wry smile as he drank in his captive’s expression. Ardyn parted his lips further, and looked like he was about to say something, but he never got that far.

        ‘Prompto? What’s going on?’

        Iggy’s voice.

        Then there was the scrambling of boots against wet earth and stone, and both Ignis and Noctis were back in the clearing.

        He struggled furiously but quickly, deftly, Ardyn span him round so he was backed into him, so he could feel the jarring contrast of damp fabric against the exposed skin on his arms and shoulders, and body heat against his back. The contrast made the warmth almost pleasurable, and a flush crossed his cheeks - anger, shame, he wasn’t sure what. But he didn’t like it.

        The heady sandalwood smell grew stronger as Ardyn’s breath brushed soft against his neck. The loose fabric of the Chancellor’s over-embellished sleeve was itchy against his arm and he focussed on the sensation - it was a suitable distraction from reality.

        ‘Oh, you’re finally here, are you? I was just catching up with our dear photographer here.’

        ‘What the hell do you think you’re playing at?’ Noctis growled the words out, and for one heart-sinking moment Prompto thought he was talking to him. He tried to turn his face away from them, to zone out, to let the earth swallow him, but Ardyn’s grip increased, forcing him to attention. He was sure there would be bruises after this.

        Ardyn spoke again, so soft and velvety that if it wasn’t for the way he was holding onto Prompto it would seem so terribly easy to trust him.

       ‘As it would happen, I am not here to cause trouble. I am here to offer my assistance.’

       ‘Doesn’t look like that from here.’ Noctis’s eyes narrowed, driving imaginary daggers into Ardyn’s arm where it met Prompto’s flesh. Prompto had seen a tamer variety of that look only once before, back at the caravan they had shared with the man in Cauthess, the first time Ardyn had touched him, and that look was so intense, so possessive, it was the only time Noctis had ever scared him. Now it was multiplied by an order of magnitude. A wave of guilt washed over him: this was his fault for getting distracted, for letting his guard down. His muscles were tense under Ardyn’s grip, thrumming with adrenaline and anxiety.

        And then he felt Ardyn’s breath hitch, husky and warm against his ear. The bastard was smiling. Then as quick as a shift in the weather, Ardyn released his grip with a flourish, letting Prompto careen into the car door. Prompto’s shoulders sagged, and Noctis shouted out, edging forward, but Ardyn had already manoeuvred between them, still gesticulating as he spoke. Prompto hung back, rubbing his upper arms gingerly, wanting so badly to tune out but too hypervigilant now to take his eyes off Ardyn.

        ‘Ah, my apologies. Since our nations are, technically, still at war, it would be remit of me to not offer you at least some light peril, for posterity’s sake.’ He smiled, lip curled and teeth ever so slightly bared. ‘Gods forbid anyone should think we have some kind of _arrangement_ going on.’

        ‘We should never have accepted your help at the Disc,’ Noctis said, seething.

        ‘Now, don’t be like that. You know all too well you had no choice, as far as meeting Titan was concerned. And like I already said, I am merely here to offer my assistance.’

        While they spoke, Prompto saw an opening, and tried to slip past to rejoin his friends. But Ardyn stuck a hand out, fingers lightly but firmly touching the car door, arm colliding with Prompto’s chest, blocking his escape.

        ‘Now, let me illustrate what is going to happen from here.’


	2. Gets Me Closer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ardyn controls every scene even when he's not there.  
> \---  
> The mist turned to rain around them, pooling in the thick canopy leaves and falling in pancake droplets. Within seconds Prompto’s hair stuck damp around his cheeks, water spilling down uncomfortably. He didn’t dare move to wipe the drops away. He felt drowned, defeated and utterly miserable.  
> ‘Look at you, you’re being so obedient.’ Ardyn clicked his tongue, approval radiating from his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title and story title is from the excellent song Auf Wiedersehen, Boy by Zeromancer, which, if you listen to the lyrics, ought to give you a good idea of where this fic is going. Turning up the heat in the next chapter.  
> I listened to Underwater by Black Lab for a lot of this chapter too. Enjoy, fellow sinners.

Prompto was careful to stay very still. The air was growing colder, filling his lungs with the illusion of frost. If he stepped away from Ardyn’s touch now, if he ruined the moment and made the man react badly, no doubt Noctis would lash out, and he would never forgive himself.

        ‘This is how it’s going to go,’ said Ardyn. His voice rumbled deep and yet it lacked an echo: the forest canopy covered the clearing and the foliage was thick. ‘You three are new recruits for the Imperial Army. This is merely a routine training exercise.’       

        ‘Nobody’s going to buy that,’ Noctis shot back, voice hissing in the cold, sending steam rising.

        ‘Details, details. The important thing to note is that Steyliff Grove - that’s where you’re headed, by the way - is home to a curious thing - an abundance of mythril. Such a useful material. Your fellow soldiers would hardly notice if some went missing.’

        ‘There are more Imperials here?’ Ignis barely missed a beat.    

        ‘Oh yes, it would hardly be a training exercise otherwise.’

        Nobody mentioned the mythril. He had been one step ahead of them since the road trip had begun, so this was no surprise.

        Ignis’s voice was firm. ‘You can’t expect to hide Noctis’s presence from them.’

        ‘Oh, I think you’ll find that nobody out here has any reason to look too closely.’ He stole a sidelong glance at Prompto as he said this, his lingering gaze so at odds with his words that Prompto faltered and broke eye contact first.

        The mist turned to rain around them, pooling in the thick canopy leaves and falling in pancake droplets. Within seconds Prompto’s hair stuck damp around his cheeks, water spilling down uncomfortably. He didn’t dare move to wipe the drops away. He felt drowned, defeated and utterly miserable.

        ‘Look at you, you’re being so obedient.’ Ardyn clicked his tongue, approval radiating from his face, and it made Prompto’s cheeks flush because his first reaction was one of pride. Approval felt _good_ , and Gods, he hated that fact right now. It was such a base emotion, and wasn’t how he really felt. He shied away from the attention of the older man. This spotlight was unasked-for, and it was made all the worse when he saw Noctis glaring a thousand needles at the instigator of it all.

        Surely Ardyn was only doing this to get a rise out of the prince? If so, it was certainly working.

        The tension in the atmosphere solidified until Prompto could practically feel the jagged edges of every word left unsaid. It felt like a game of who would cave in first, and surprisingly, it wasn’t Noctis.

        Ardyn leisurely swung his gaze back to Noctis. ‘Your companions are very well trained.’ Then he dropped his arm and let Prompto breathe out in the lull, let him relax for just a few grateful seconds, before playfully shoving him towards his friends. Prompto yelped as his sodden hair became tangled in those unpleasant fingers, some strands catching in the velcro of Ardyn’s gloves and tearing from his scalp. He stumbled forward, rubbing the back of his head, putting considerable effort into not tripping over the hummocky ground as his tensed legs threatened to give up on him. Noctis received him in a fast, possessive embrace, and he felt the warmth of Ignis’s hand on one shoulder, stilling his shakes. Noctis was oscillating between cursing and asking him if he was okay; he didn’t want to think about it so he batted the questions away.

        ‘You’ll do well not to lay hands on him again,’ Ignis said, glaring at the Chancellor.

        Ardyn shrugged and readjusted his scarf as though entirely unaware of the atmosphere. But his eyes sparkled when he looked back at them. He was anything but oblivious. He raised a hand theatrically and strode forward.

        ‘Well, lads, follow me.’ When he sensed them waiting until he had advanced a few steps before following, he turned, a smirk playing upon his lips. ‘And don’t stray too far - you never know what fiends may be lurking.’

        ‘Do we follow him?’ Prompto whispered for fear of hearing his own voice crack.

        ‘Yeah… guess we have no choice.’ Noctis rubbed the back of his neck, something he only did when anxious. ‘I’ll be watching him, though.’

        ‘As will I.’ Ignis adjusted his collar, sharp eyes on high alert.    

        So Ardyn led them through the thicket, not saying much more aside from a weak jab at the fact Gladio was missing. It was hardly as scathing as his earlier words, and it was rather disarming. He walked casually, as though he had all the time in the world, and after enough time Prompto began to do the same. It was just habit, really; subconsciously matching the movements of those around him as if it would incite harmony.

        He wasn’t usually thinking about himself when he did this, but a pleasant side effect this time was that the slower pace calmed his nerves. As his breathing grew steadier, he found he was watching the scene from somewhere outside of himself.

        The four of them walking through the woods seemed ordinary and inconsequential - wait, wasn’t that the word Ardyn had used earlier? No consequence, something like that? He was right, though - to an outsider they would have seemed quiet and calm and amiable enough. Maybe this would all turn out okay. Maybe he had been scared over nothing.

        And then he noticed it. Noctis was walking rigidly, and it wasn’t because of his old leg injury. He was spoiling for a fight, and Ardyn’s tame demeanour was sure indication that he wasn’t giving it to him. Ardyn owned the situation.

        The weightiness settled back in Prompto’s stomach. This game was far from over.  
    

They walked through a crumbling limestone archway, tendrils of unnamed flora snaking up the old rock, reclaiming the structure inch by inch. The forest descended into pure swamp, and more stone pillars rose from the water like sentinels from a bygone era. Prompto was relaxed enough now from the silent walk that he was able to feel a deep melancholy at the sight. There was a sense of loss there, at seeing something so forgotten but still struggling upward out of the murk. For a moment it was intense enough for him to wish back the fear.

        Ardyn led them up to the entrance of a gargantuan building, grey and brown and somber green, ensconced below the mangrove canopy. It had been so perfectly camouflaged that it had been completely hidden from their view back near the campsite.

        Standing lazily in front of the entrance was a woman with long, grey hair and a somewhat bored expression on her face. Prompto gaped - it was that woman they’d fought at Fort Vaullerey. Aranea. Lovely name, scary person. He hung back behind Noctis in a half-hearted attempt at shielding himself.

        Ardyn tipped his hat towards the woman. ‘Commodore Highwind, I leave them to you. Enjoy your training.’ Then he backed off, and motioned for the trio to approach her. ‘Don’t worry, she won’t bite.’

        Noctis grunted. ‘Sure, not like she’s tried before or anything.’  

        Aranea looked them up and down, then snorted. ‘New recruits? Nice cover.’

        Seemingly out of words, Noctis looked to Prompto for help. It was a terrible idea. Prompto flailed before uttering a hurried ‘Uh, thanks,’ in reply. Noctis groaned. Aranea laughed. Prompto was pretty sure he heard a snigger come from Ardyn’s direction and he felt his cheeks grow hot.

        ‘Relax. There’s no point in me turning you in. And besides, the Chancellor here’s paying me extra to escort you.’ She pointed her lance beyond Prompto’s shoulder, where Ardyn was standing only a few metres away. The movement was languid but her eyes were far too sharply focussed, and he got the feeling she wasn’t too fond of Ardyn either.     

        Prompto hazarded a glance backwards. Ardyn grinned wolfishly, catching his eye. The sparkle was back, and then the corner of his mouth twitched, like he was sharing a secret with him. Prompto’s skin began to itch, and he just hoped his expression wasn’t giving too much indication of his displeasure.  He didn’t want to give the man any foothold. He shifted attention back to Aranea. She was much nicer to look at.

        It wasn’t long before Noctis filled the awkward pause. ‘So, are we going or what?’

        ‘There’s no point in grouping up yet, boys.’ Aranea knocked an armoured fist against the crumbling wall. ‘Place won’t open ’til nightfall.’

        ‘Ah, a sealed entrance?’ Ignis inspected the rock. Aranea nodded, and at that Ignis touched his glasses to his nose and drank in the sky, still hazy grey in the early afternoon light. ‘In that case, I suggest we set up camp and grab some rest first.’

        ‘Yes! And food!’ The mere thought had set Prompto’s stomach rumbling. They’d only had a light breakfast before setting out on the road that morning. Stomach acid would be wreaking havoc before long.

        ‘Well, it’s up to Noct.’ Ignis looked pointedly at the prince, and he nodded.

        ‘Sure. We’ve got a while.’

        ‘I’ll be here waiting,’ Aranea said. Prompto smiled, eager to make her feel appreciated, and it seemed to strike the right chord. Ardyn backed off as they walked away, and performed the slightest of bows. His stance was conceding, but his voice brought back its sinister edge. The threat was unmissable, and again, velvety smooth and incredibly commanding.

        ‘I trust you won’t give the lady any trouble. We both may not have the chance to be quite so _accommodating,_ next we meet.’

        Prompto avoided his gaze, which was probably exactly what he wanted. Why did he have to be the one to get the last word in?

  
The trek back seemed easier than expected. It felt like little time at all before they broke from the cover of trees and tracked back up the dirt path towards the campsite. Mud became gravel, and they were treated to a clearer view of their surroundings. They’d barely spoken to each other, all set off-kilter by the unexpected encounter. Prompto glanced back over the Vesperpool, its brackish surface glinting in a rare ray of sunlight. He so badly wanted a distraction, a way to lighten the mood.

        ‘Hey, Noct?’

        Noctis grunted.

        ‘Can we… take a photo by the lake?’

        ‘Not now.’

        ‘Oh. Okay. Um, well, let me know if you change your mind.’

        Maybe that was the wrong thing to say. Noctis was bristling. Prompto could feel it, an electric current running over his skin, ready to discharge energy at any moment. When they reached the camp, Ignis set to organising the site, assigning tasks to the pair before anything could escalate. So he could feel it too - he was pushing up his glasses more often than normal. Ignis asked what they wanted to eat: Prompto requested something spicy and Noctis ignored the question.

        It was only when they were sat round the failing campfire, plates in hand, that Noctis sounded off. Prompto had just made some innocent comment about the fire. Then Noctis shifted, and let his fork fall to the ground.

        ‘Why’d you have to go and do it?’ His eyebrows were angled so severely, his mouth pulled apart in a grimace and it was directed at _him_.

        ‘I… do what?’

        ‘Get so close. With the damn photos.’ Noctis forced the words out like he was removing bones from a mouthful of fish. Prompto didn’t need to ask what he was talking about - it was clear he was thinking of Ardyn.

        ‘I didn’t know he - ’

        ‘You’re the one who wanted to ask him for help with Ramuh. You still feel that way?’

        ‘I don’t know… he knows what we’re up to anyway. We might as well accept the help.’

        Noctis sighed, the exasperation spilling over. ‘And that’s why you end up in situations like _that_.’

        Prompto paused, fork stuck in a clump of rice. He was at a loss; the memory of Ardyn pressed against his body rose up and choked him in unwelcome tendrils, seared his skin warm with shame while Noctis illustrated his faults, oblivious to his desperately glitching mind. He didn’t realise he had stopped moving until Ignis cleared his throat - an indication for Noctis to calm down that was completely ignored. Then Noctis revealed the reason for his anger.

        ‘I couldn’t stand him _looking_ at you like that.’

        Prompto pinched his forearm to bring the world back into focus. He didn’t need reminding. He had expected Ignis might be the one to chide him after the whole incident, but he hadn’t anticipated it from Noctis. Seemed he’d hit a nerve and oh god, he hadn’t meant to. He tried to apologise.

        Noctis raised his palms to his head and pressed in desperation, slowly smoothing his hair back, closing his eyes tight as though in pain. ‘Just - don’t, okay? You always end up doing something dumb.’

        ‘Noct, that’s enough!’ Ignis interrupted, fixing the prince with a sharp, reprimanding look. Noctis conceded, and returned to stabbing at his food somewhat petulantly. There was still a huge amount of frustration wound up there, but at least for now he was out of the firing line.

        Prompto finished his food in silence. He wanted to say _no, I just wanted you to feel better_. He wanted to apologise again. But most of all he had an urge to break off from the group, head down to the lake and forget the whole argument - and by extension, the events of the whole day - by taking some photos. Not stupid photos like earlier, but nature, landscapes, things disconnected from _people_. The lighting wasn’t right, and although the rain had stopped the clouds were still heavy and the quality of his photos would be terrible. If he shot in black and white it might reflect how he was feeling, and perhaps that wouldn’t look so bad. The notion grew more appealing by the minute.

  
In the end he lacked the nerve to leave the campsite and take his photos. Like Noctis said, it would have been dumb. Noct had already gone to rest in the tent, and Prompto found himself jealous of his uncanny ability to fall asleep in almost any situation. He helped Ignis clear up the dishes, and when Ignis clapped him on the shoulder and asked if he’d be catching some sleep too, he found himself agreeing. There was still a substantial amount of time before nightfall, and the trip into Steyliff Grove would be no easy ride. It was a sensible idea.

        There was just one setback. He couldn’t relax properly in the clammy tent. Noctis had hogged most of the space, the tent’s edges were already dripping with condensation, and his mind was too frenetic to give him a mote of peace. Faced with either sweaty heat from the sleeping bag or frigid cold outside it, he tossed and turned relentlessly until he slipped into feverish dreams.

  
In the first dream, he was back to sitting round the campfire, same as earlier in every detail except Ardyn had joined them. The man had risen out of the dark recesses of the scene and taken residence in Gladio’s seat like it was the most natural thing in the world.

        Ignis was laying out his food supplies. _‘Any requests?’_

        ‘I don’t care as long as it’s spicy,’ Prompto heard himself say confidently, and he watched Ardyn’s mouth break into a wide grin.

         _‘Like it hot, do you?’_

        Prompto grimaced. The crawling sensation returned to his skin, shivering up from the layers just below the surface.

        ‘I think I can handle it much better than you can,’ he replied with uncharacteristic resolve. Luckily dream-Ignis backed him up.

         _‘I don’t go light on the spices, heaven forbid.’_

        Ignis made the same meal as earlier, curry seasoned with Schier turmeric, and they ate like nothing had happened at all. The first bite was delicious, as Iggy’s cooking should be, but Ardyn’s presence poisoned everything; each subsequent mouthful tasted more keenly of acid and ash. The meal was ruined, and the satisfied smile of the devil was ever-present.

  
In the second dream he was at another campsite, but it was markedly different from the first. It took a few seconds to resolve, then he realised it was the caravan at the Disc of Cauthess. Ardyn was with them _again_ , and he was stalking round the site, rambling on about some mythical tale about the Disc he’d found interesting. Prompto knew what would happen next, he’d replayed it in his waking mind enough times, but captive as he was in the dream, he was unable to move. He watched himself tapping at that damn phone game, while Ardyn circled round behind him, then beside him, then in towards him. He felt him breathe in his scent, and he didn’t understand why it incited such delight in his eyes. Then he saw with crystal clarity Ardyn’s fingers reaching forwards, so utterly sure and perfectly at ease, he felt them clench round his jaw, thumb tracing the outline of his mouth. A deep, fearful pulse inside his body, and trepidation sinking like a stone to the stomach were the two sensations that accompanied the possessive touch and yes, the dream was magnifying everything about the encounter to terrifying effect, but it also made him realise just how much he had _hated_ that situation. So out of the blue, so unnecessary. So _absolute_ in that, inside his mind, it was fated to happen in this exact way over and over.

        In the dream, Ardyn gripped far tighter than he had in reality, until dizzying stars arrived, and Prompto’s surroundings blurred and melted into kaleidoscopic colour.

  
By the time the third change of scenery rolled around, he was disoriented enough to not recognise his surroundings at all. _He_ was there again, he knew that much. He could feel the darkness shroud him, the heat close by, the unbearable weight of _his_ presence.

        He was underwater, he knew this because there were bubbles and he couldn’t breathe. He struggled, reached upwards for the glistening light above, the water’s surface. Then he realised Ardyn’s hands were still on his throat from the previous dream. He was holding him down, he was _drowning_ him. The liquid grew darker and he wasn’t quite sure it was water any more. It entered his mouth, black bile spilling down his throat and sinking into soft flesh with no space for recourse.

        Ardyn spoke softly against his ear. _‘Let’s see what you’re so keen to hide from your dear prince.’_

        Then he began to shed all the layers he’d built up over the years. And oh, how much he had accumulated - a myriad of ways to act like a regular human being, to create an illusion of normalcy that went far beyond the barcode tattoo he hid on his wrist. Ways to forget his Niflheim origins, along with all those other things he’d never had the courage to share with Noctis. And like a cat in a dressmaker’s cupboard, Ardyn was pulling at those strings, unravelling him in order to clothe him in something darker. It didn’t feel like a dream any more.

         _‘Have you suffered enough yet?’_

        The voice echoed from every direction. He floundered and reached for the water’s surface, which became the upper layer of the sky, which then became a rapidly-vanishing orb of sunlight sinking low over the horizon. Then it was lost, and Ardyn’s hands became claws, and he was dragged down deeper until everything within sight vanished. The dream held him in hell far longer than it had any right to. He was a bubble twenty thousand leagues under, and if he couldn’t reach the surface, he knew he was fated to burst. His lungs burned and he was so close to waking, so close to being free. Just a few more seconds.

        He thought the answer to Ardyn’s question was ‘Yes’, but what if he was wrong?


	3. You Play God

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stuck between a rock and a hard kiss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ohhhh, turn it UP!
> 
> Well I really didn't think I'd be cranking this out tonight, but here you go. All aboard the sin train as it heads into an ever deeper circle of hell.
> 
> This is not meant to be romantic. Also I'm glad I finally got work in my reluctance to tackle those damn toads during my playthrough into this fiction.

When Prompto awoke, his rasping breaths were the only sound to disturb the stillness of the tent. Noctis wasn’t snoring, and only the gentle rise and fall of the sleeping bag was any indication he was still breathing. Ignis was in much the same position. Both silent, both peaceful. The tent fabric glowed in somber tones from the dying light outside, and the sleeping bag that slipped from his clammy shoulders and pooled in his lap looked indigo instead of yellow. Such a strange serenity hung over the room - such a sharp contrast to the racing of his pulse - that he could have believed he’d been transported to another place, another time. Or perhaps outside of time altogether. It seemed too unreal after escaping the dark corners of his dreams.

        Well, he hadn’t completely escaped them yet. No flash of images invaded his vision as he might have expected; there was only the phantom touch across his skin and the bitter taste in his mouth. He shook off the unsavoury flavour by scrambling outside for air. He was a little too loud in pulling his boots on and unzipping the tent, but luckily neither of his companions woke. 

        The evening was stumbling into night, sky blushing every shade between pink and purple, with velvet black incoming on the horizon. The scent after the rain was strong and earthy. It felt like midsummer, it conjured up memories of April showers and idle evenings spent in parks and arcades after school. Carefree abandon marked those days, made all the more precious by the fact it was finite. Home was a cold reality, and he didn’t want to return to it.

        Standing by the charred remains of their pathetic fire, Prompto breathed in the cool air, let it fill his lungs slowly. He had to get the poison out of his system. It hung in his veins like alcohol the morning after, claiming his flesh while his mind struggled for freedom. He had only been asleep a few hours, but it had felt like much longer.

        Prompto thought about the photos again. He so badly wanted to get a good view of the lake. 

        Ignis had already said they weren’t going to make a move until midnight. He had time. So he checked his gun could be summoned just fine, then checked the mechanisms were working smoothly. He was pulling a risky manoeuvre by leaving the campsite, but he wasn’t a complete idiot, despite what Noctis seemed to think. He could take care of himself, and if that failed, well, he was good at running away. It was worth it all to get away for a short while. It was better than the tent and the cloying darkness of the dreams.  
    

Contenting himself with a quick rummage through his hair rather than slipping back into the tent for some product, he tracked off down the path and away from the safety of the campsite’s blue runes. The hair was fine. Nobody was going to see it anyway. He scanned the environment; there, to the east and a little further up the slope, was an outcrop of light grey rock that would serve well for a panorama of the Vesperpool. It was far enough away from the thicket for him to feel comfortable trekking up there alone. And besides, they’d already established a pact of sorts with the Imperials, so what did he have to fear? 

        It didn’t take him long to reach the outcrop, and he had even begun humming to himself along the way. By the time he set up his camera the rosy clouds were heavy over the western sky, blushing with upcast light from the setting sun. The fog was gathering again over the Vesperpool’s murky waters, making hazy clouds from the east to the west bank, and it was perfect. Before he took the photo he spent a moment breathing in the atmosphere, enjoying the beauty and the isolation. He was glad he decided to do this.

        He took the shot just as rain began to fall once more. A slight wind chill brushed his exposed shoulders. It felt wild, dangerous, expectant. Thrilling, at first, but then the feeling of danger intensified. The raindrops sparkled in the half-light and the scent of sandalwood drifted in on the soft breeze. He tensed. There was something wrong in this mix.

        Glancing around from his vantage point atop the plateau of rock, he soon saw the reason for his anxiety. There, on the rock’s lower platform, someone was walking slowly towards him. Voluminous layers of fabric bustled in the breeze and the figure raised an arm to secure his wide-brimmed hat.

        His heart dropped, anchored itself into the cold rock. Of course Ardyn would be here. He’d been half-expecting to find him around every corner anyway, although every time the thought had surfaced he’d pushed it back down, told himself to _get a fucking grip_.

        He was regretting that now.

        As the man drew nearer, Prompto climbed down the ledge on to the next platform of the outcrop, so they would be level. He stood his ground as Ardyn closed the distance. When he was barely two metres away, Ardyn dipped into a slight bow, arms spread out in a flourish.

        ‘My dear boy! What on earth are you doing out here alone?’ 

        Prompto bit his lip, trying to think of a suitable reply. The lack of menace was confusing.

        ‘Taking photos.’ He had no energy to inject any surprise into his voice. It was obvious, anyway. He was still clutching his camera, the lens cap dangling on its short leash.

        ‘Ah, of course. Such a beautiful evening for it, despite the rain.’ Ardyn raised his hands as he took one final step closer. Perhaps he truly meant the peaceful gesture, but it came across immediately as a jest. Prompto kept one hand to his back, fingers flexed and ready to summon his gun if necessary. He was within range enough of Noctis to borrow his power. Ardyn noticed his stance, and laughed shallowly.

        ‘You may call up your weapon, if it would make you feel more at ease.’

         The voice in his head was confident, acerbic. _You don’t need to tell me twice._ But he said nothing aloud. He stared hard into Ardyn’s eyes, searching for a hint of anything suspicious. The man was watching him curiously, but not unkindly. It wasn’t enough to convince him, however.

        A flick of the fingers, and Noctis’s royal power activated; the gun appeared in Prompto’s hand. He relaxed. He felt better with the gun. There was no need to flip the safety catch yet - just having the surety of metal in his grip was enough. He narrowed his eyebrows, felt his mouth twitch as Ardyn’s gaze intensified.

        ‘Beautiful.’

         _Beautiful?_ Why would he say that? Not for the first time, Prompto wondered if the older man had a thing for him. It was a shameful thought, one that set the pit of his belly burning. Again, the spotlight was upon him, and again he shied away from it.

        Ardyn chuckled - such a weird sound to come from those lips. ‘You look like you have questions.’

        He wasn’t about to ask a question like _that_. So he tried to do what he imagined Ignis would do,  and focussed on the wider picture.

        ‘I just don’t get it. The Imperial Army’s been pretty keen on finding us, and you’ve basically known where we’ve been the whole time. So why?’

        ‘Why not just call in the troops, you mean?’ Ardyn smirked. ‘Well, let’s just say I don’t exactly see eye to eye with our dear Emperor.’    

        Prompto thought about this for a minute. ‘Okay. But why are you being so nice? Decent, I mean. You could’ve made this a lot harder for us.’ He fidgeted with his leather bracelet as he spoke, then stopped, not wanting to draw attention to it. Too late. Ardyn saw.

        ‘I should hope there’s no reason for me not to be nice,’ he said, and while his words seemed pleasant enough, underneath they smacked of the kind of playground teasing Prompto had long ago lost the patience for. It felt like a trap.

        The rain picked up around them, and Ardyn reached for his face, presumably to tuck the sodden strands of hair away from his forehead.

        Prompto flinched and backed away, raising the gun just enough to stop Ardyn’s advance.

        ‘No.’ He didn’t manage to say anything else, but then he didn’t need to.

         _Why was Ardyn acting like the incident by the car hadn’t happened?_ It wasn’t okay to just approach him like that.

        ‘Ah, my apologies. I assumed - well, it is hard not to notice how hands-on you are with your companions.’

        ‘I - what?’

        ‘Oh, don’t fret. I appear to have misread the situation. Although I wonder: why is it different with them?’

        A pang of guilt hit Prompto square in the stomach. Had he just set a horrendous double-standard here?

        Maybe it wasn’t all that weird for Ardyn to touch him. He was only trying to remove the wet hair from his face. It didn’t have to mean anything extra. 

        Maybe he just hadn’t noticed how close he tended to get with the guys, with Noctis especially. Well, Noctis was different, but he’d never had any ulterior motives, that was for sure. It had always been quite innocent.

        Maybe he was just making a fuss over nothing.

        He had no concrete way to answer the man, and embarrassment peaked in his rosy cheeks. Why was he suddenly feeling like the bad guy? The way Ardyn phrased things made his reactions seem over the top. He couldn’t refute that when all he had to go on was a nebulous feeling of unease. These were two things he hated: feeling invalidated, and being backed into a corner. And Ardyn was succeeding at conjuring up both rather too well for his liking.

        Was this part of the power game too? Or was it all conjecture, a symptom of his overactive, unstable nerves?

        Ardyn seemed to read this last part, for he said, ‘You really don’t need to act so nervous around me, boy.’ Still Ardyn made no move towards him - he’d stayed his hand from the moment Prompto said ‘No’, and the amicable distance he’d set between them made Prompto second-guess his motivations. Not to mention the menacing aura he’d worn earlier that day was gone. Now he just seemed like a weary old man. All earlier suspicions began to feel ridiculous in this new light, and Prompto was aware of a relaxed kind of confidence rising up inside.

        ‘’Kay. Just - stop calling me ‘boy’. I’m a man.’

        Ardyn laughed. ‘A man? Oh, look at you. You must be, what, eighteen?’

        ‘I’m twenty. So I’m still a man, even if I’m not as ancient as you.’

        ‘Ancient.’ Ardyn laughed again and it was like a death rattle. ‘You have no idea.’

        Prompto shuddered, and not just from the rising wind. There was something else there, underneath that laugh. He couldn’t place it, but it felt like he’d just touched the edge of something massive. It felt like a dark well, filled with thick, oily water, and suddenly the stifling memory of the drowning dream was back, playing out frenetically in his mind while the two of them stood motionless in reality. 

        He opened his mouth, started to speak. Anything to get his mind off the dream.

        Then the situation changed, as naturally as the transition from water to ice, and Prompto fancied he felt the ground shift minutely beneath his feet.

        ‘Shh.’ Ardyn touched a finger to his lips, keen eyes flitting over their surroundings. Prompto automatically looked around too, expecting to see something. Then with no warning Ardyn shoved him against the rock face. Prompto yelped and unlocked the safety on the gun, but he’d been caught horribly off-guard; Ardyn clamped one hand over his mouth to silence him, and used the other hand to grab his wrist, cruelly yanking it backward until the gun slipped from his grasp and skittered a few metres away. He thought he heard Ardyn wince at the sound, which was strange.

        Ardyn’s face was too close and Prompto scrunched his eyes up tight, expecting to receive a blow, although he didn’t know exactly what he could have done to deserve it. When none came he started struggling but the pressure on his wrist soon made him freeze up, and stare wide-eyed back at that wolfish face. His wrist - was it broken? It ached so much he could feel tears prick his eyes. The rock against the back of his head was rough and full of sharpnesses that caught at strands of his hair. Ardyn’s body aligned against his and god, the man was so much taller than him, so much stronger.

         _This can’t be happening,_ his mind cried on repeat. He tried to speak, his fear rising further when all that came out of his mouth was a muffled noise against Ardyn’s fingers. His free arm scrabbled for purchase and Ardyn pinned it against the wall with his elbow, then shushed him again, before glancing to the side with something akin to worry in his expression. Prompto’s terrified eyes followed.

        Another shape resolved in the distance, this time much bigger. A gigantoad - he recalled Ignis saying something about how they favoured marshy territory, how they came out when it rained. He should have remembered sooner. He looked back to Ardyn, hoping his eyes would convey an apology while his mouth was occupied.

        The gigantoad was heading from their platform to the higher one, sticking splayed toes out to clamber up the rock. It hadn’t noticed them yet. Prompto felt his nostrils flare as he breathed in, praying to the Six for the creature to stay oblivious. He hazarded another glance at Ardyn, but the Chancellor’s focus was entirely upon the creature.

         _We could have taken that thing on, surely? He seems like someone who can fight. Or maybe he doesn’t think I can._

        The toad lumbered past, a shadow passing over their heads, shaking the ground with each fat, squalorly step. They stood in silence, pressed against the rock face, counting the breaths until the creature had passed by. The rosy glow of sunset faded from the rock, and the small crystalline fragments it was composed of took on a curious royal blue tone, a highlight to the dark purple sky.

        Eventually the shudders upon the ground stopped and the world around them fell silent save for the gentle pizzicato sound of the rain.

       _‘Good boy,’_ Ardyn said softly, and again Prompto felt that unwanted thrill at the words of praise. A dangerous thought rose up - if he was obedient enough, perhaps he could get out of this unscathed. But he was still shaking from the suddenness of it all, and was numb for what to do next.

        Ardyn was happy to continue filling the silence. ‘So, back to _you_.’ He drew out the pronoun to an impossibly low register and it made Prompto’s skin crawl. That same menacing, predatory look he had worn when he’d first cornered him by the car was back, and in the position Prompto was in, he found himself utterly captivated, watching Ardyn’s pupils dilate. It was only when the Chancellor released his hand from Prompto’s mouth that he realised he’d still been gagged.

        ‘Let me go. Let me -’ He winced at how his voice faltered. His pitch was all over the place and it didn’t carry any kind of weight to it at all. He fidgeted while Ardyn watched him hungrily, and he resented the shaking in his bones. This was all going so wrong. 

        The hand that had gagged him moved to clasp his other wrist, knocking the forgotten camera to the ground. Ardyn’s touch was hard, fingernails biting into skin, and the way he pressed against him was so heavy, so ungracious that he expected the man to be angry. That’s what this kind of grip meant, didn’t it? Or had life taught him wrong?

        What he got was that same deep, soft tone. The tone a close friend or beloved mentor might use. It was so at odds with his body language, and it made no sense.

        ‘You may think the last thing Prince - sorry, _King_ Noctis wants is for people to discover the Chancellor of Niflheim has been helping him out, but really, what would be worse? The knowledge that a Niflheim native has infiltrated his closest ranks?’ With his eyebrow raised, and his eyes wide and fawning, Ardyn could almost have been mistaken for a concerned parent.

        ‘What? No!’

        ‘Oh, don’t pretend with me.’ Ardyn stretched out his wrists, holding him in a mock-crucifix against the rock. Prompto tensed his muscles when he felt the strain, and Ardyn tilted his head to admire the view, as if it meant something deeper to him. Then he slipped a finger under the leather cuff covering Prompto’s right wrist, and he rubbed the skin tenderly in small circles, much like Prompto did himself when anxious. The similarity made him feel sick, and deadly scared. Everything he’d said, everything he was currently doing, could only amount to one thing. Just like in his dream, his secrets were being stripped bare.

        ‘So - so you know?’ He could feel his expression breaking into something pathetic as his brimming eyes searched the older man’s for confirmation.

        Ardyn merely smiled in reply, then, tightening his grip, he leaned in to the exposed forearm, extended his tongue, and licked firmly up the length from elbow to wrist, culminating in the barcode tattoo at the top.

        ‘Please… stop… Ah! I - I don’t understand…’

        ‘Oh, when it comes to you, I’m afraid I… must admit I have a bit of a weakness.’ He spoke like it was a self-indulgent confession, his mouth a mockery of the expression children wore when opening a present. 

        Prompto couldn’t help it. Tears leaked their way from the corners of his eyes and the shame and confusion mixed to form anger: he lashed out, struggled violently, tried to get the man to back off from his body but it didn’t quite work the way he wanted. Ardyn was vindictive in his riposte, bringing a knee up hard into his groin, and grimly enjoying the pained yelp he got in reply. 

        More tears. Searing hot pain. Then Ardyn, speaking soft in his ear. ‘Oh _why_ is this happening to me? Is that what you want to know? Well, it can’t be that much of a surprise. You’re a gorgeous experiment and, Gods, I can’t _not_ play with the toys the Empire has given me.’

        Prompto attempted to regain his balance on weakened knees and strained uselessly against Ardyn’s unyielding grip. He thought he was speaking, and he must have said something, because next he knew, Ardyn’s breath was on his cheek and his voice in his head, dripping words like candle wax.

        ‘You shouldn’t be such a _tease_.’

        With that he brought his lips hard against Prompto’s, mingling their flesh in an abrupt and loveless onslaught. Prompto heard his own vocal chords strain in automatic shock response, no legible words coming out as Ardyn’s tongue forced its way in to the soft spaces, violent and savage and laying claim with every passing second. His mind raced while his nose flared and he struggled to breathe. His dreams merged into reality while his arms were spread out and away from him.

        The kiss was wet, both their faces streamed with rain. The moment Prompto turned his eyes heavenward for distraction, all he saw was darkness racing across the sky, inking it black. Every inch of his skin was burning and he couldn’t even name the emotions that caused it any more, it was all one unbearable mush of everything a pathetic creature like himself could experience. He couldn’t tell what were tears and what was rain. It was all the same.

        It seemed endless, and after a while he started to respond to the kiss - not because he wanted to, but because it simply _made sense_. It was what he was meant to do, surely, whether he liked it or not? And he didn’t - he hated every second. Hated it enough he was willing to do anything to make it end sooner. He put all his energy into offering up his mouth, trying to ignore the heat gathering around his groin.

        Ardyn broke off the kiss with an incredibly shallow laugh. He gazed down as the boy’s bulging crotch and smiled devilishly, his voice growing impossibly deep. ‘Well, perhaps I did not misread the situation after all.’

        Prompto flushed, his skin growing unbearably warm even amid the enveloping chill of night. Ardyn dropped hold of his wrists, and seemed pleased when he didn’t even attempt to move. The firmness of the rock at his back was the only thing stopping him from keeling over, or so it seemed. It wasn’t like he was keeping track of reality too closely. He could feel his hair all messed up around his water-slicked cheeks, but his wrists, his shoulders, they ached, and what was the point in moving them to clear his face? He wasn’t in control here.

        Ardyn bent down to retrieve the camera, and took the opportunity to snap a candid shot of Prompto, who screwed his eyes up at the flash and began whimpering, casting his face off to the side to avoid the man’s gaze.

        A contented sigh, then Ardyn checked over the shot. ‘Wonderful.’ He dropped the camera at Prompto’s feet, and the harsh clatter of plastic on rock rang out. Normally he’d be the first to leap for the device, but here he only flinched once, then resumed his stillness.

        ‘You are quite the broken machine, my little runaway. But fear not. I shall fix you soon.’ He caressed Prompto’s unresponsive cheek. ‘Remember that when next we meet, for it may be sooner than you think.’

        He stepped back to admire his handiwork, then stalked off calmly into the gathering dark. The rain slowed to a stop and Prompto was left frozen against the wall, with nothing but the rustling leaves of distant trees for company.


	4. Miles Apart and Inches Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another one where Ardyn controls every scene from the shadows, and Prompto deals with the fallout of what just happened to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This whole chapter sets the stage for the third act, as it were.  
> I'm letting this simmer away slowly, I'm a sucker for tension and buildup, but next chapter we are COOKING WITH GAS  
> Seriously, you have been warned.
> 
> I've been listening to a lot of UNKLE for this chapter. The title is a line from his song 'Broken'.

Prompto didn’t move for the longest time. Eventually the wind went the same way as the dying rain, petering out into nothingness. The falling night muted all sound like a gentle, heavy snowfall and yet it was the loudest it had ever been in Prompto’s mind. Whispers and white fuzz scratched in the silence, as sharp as the rock against his back.

        He knew it was cold because goose pimples rose from his skin and his teeth clashed together against his will. He was sick of things happening against his will. Quick, _focus on something else._

        He should move his limbs before the cold went too deep.

        _The camera. Start with that. Come on Prom, you can do it._ He sank to his knees, forced his lead-heavy arms forward, and picked up the scratched apparatus. Before he was aware of what he was doing, he had pulled the device towards his chest, cradling it like a beloved pet, fresh wetness spilling down his cheeks.

        It didn’t matter that the rock surface hurt his knees. He just wanted to be seated round the campfire with Noctis, Iggy and Gladio. Laughing and telling jokes. Taking fly-on-the-wall shots of them all to preserve the memory.

        That last thought, initially so innocent, made his blood run cold. He couldn’t stomach looking at the photo Ardyn had taken. But he had to delete it. What if Noctis saw?

        He cut off his thoughts abruptly. _Don’t even go there. You know it’s too much to handle right now._ His mind seeded dulcet tones into the air about him, lulled him away from reality once more so he could barely feel the tears evaporating in the cold night. Time dropped away once more.

        An insect landed on his arm, making his skin twitch, bringing him back to the world. He shook the creature away automatically, the shape of the camera an obstruction beneath his fingers. It renewed the fear. _Noctis_. He couldn’t leave it too late to delete.

        His heart thumped too hard and too fast, and he hurriedly switched on the device. The small elation at discovering the thing still worked was fast replaced by emptiness when his own face looked back at him, mouth agape and eyes pleading into the camera lens. His hair was a mess. His shoulders were slumped but his muscles were too tense and there was nothing flattering about the picture at all. No bonds held him to the rock and yet everything about his posture suggested he was being restrained in some way. _How could Ardyn think this beautiful?_ Gods, he felt sick.

        He could hear Noctis now, voice hissing in the fragile air. _Why would you let him do that to you? Why didn’t you fight harder?_

        The hateful part of his mind used Noctis’s voice too well for his liking, twisted it into condescension. Up against that, he had little armour, so when he told himself he hadn’t fought because Ardyn was stronger and there was no point, the excuse seemed hollow. Really, he had just been scared. _Pathetic_.

        How could he possibly admit it? Noctis’s temper would flare, whether at him or Ardyn, it didn’t matter, because the mythril quest would be screwed up. And Ignis… he couldn’t put so much extra pressure on him when he was already doing almost everything for them. The guilt roiled around like a brewing thunderstorm. And in the midst of it all, like a lightning conductor pointed at the sky waiting for that first strike, was the gut-wrenching idea that Ardyn may let slip about his Niflheim origins should he choose to bring the man’s actions to light.

        No, Noctis could never know.

        The moment he accepted he had nobody to confide in, he burst into tears, loudly this time, not even caring if it brought the daemons. He’d already encountered the worst of them anyway.

        It took him longer than it should have, but in the end he deleted the photo. Dragging himself to his feet and retrieving his gun, Prompto began the slow trek back to camp. In his head he rehearsed his excuses. He was okay. This would be fine.  
  


 

The protective glyphs around camp glowed an ethereal blue and Prompto stumbled towards them, paying little attention to his immediate surroundings. He ignored the thorns of unseen bushes catching at his shoulders, the uncomfortable squelch as he tripped over muddy roots, the odd howling animal cry piercing the night silence. 

        It was a miracle that no daemons interrupted his return to camp, and he tried not to think about why that might be. _He_ was still out there, watching him no doubt. 

         _No, don’t think about it. You gotta get a grip on this sick feeling, come on. Focus!_ There was no chance he’d be able to start the campfire again, but the hotplate still had some charge and the kettle had water left over. Ignis had a bunch of tea bags stored away somewhere. He didn’t think he liked tea, but he figured it would be warm and comforting. 

        Ignis woke up as soon as the kettle started rumbling. It startled Prompto at first, the slick sound of the zip being undone across the tent flap. Then Ignis’s familiar face peering curiously at him, glasses hanging rather haphazardly off his nose. 

        ‘Oh, you’re awake.’ His eyebrow creased. ‘You’re making tea?’

        A lump nestled in his throat, shame and trepidation like burning coal threatening to fry his vocal chords. Talking shouldn’t be this hard; he was _good_ at talking. This was unfair. 

        He choked down his dread, managed a weak smile, and said, ‘Yeah, it was getting cold, so I thought…’

        ‘No need to worry, you can have some if you want.’ Ignis’s face softened, and what should have been a kind gesture instead got Prompto’s nerves strung high. So it was that obvious something had happened. It was probably written across his face like thick marker pen. He forced another smile.

        ‘Thanks. I’ll make some for you too, if you like?’

        Ignis nodded. ‘I’d appreciate it. We have a small amount of time left before we set out.’ He extricated himself from the tent, stretched, and looked around him. ‘It’s gotten much colder out. Are you sure you don’t need a better jacket?’

        ‘Nuh-uh, I’m fine.’ He focussed on the kettle, and it was only when he sensed Ignis crouch beside him that he realised he was slumped on the hard ground rather than the comfy camping chairs. He continued to focus. He’d picked the elderflower tea. It should taste nice.

        ‘Your camera. What happened to it?’

        ‘Oh. I, uh, dropped it. Tryin’ to get a shot of the sunset.’ His panic slowed when he realised he had the perfect way out of this conversation. He dropped his voice a notch lower. ‘Please don’t tell Noct I was taking photos.’

        Thank the Six that Ignis was so understanding. He fixed Prompto with a steadfast gaze and told him not to worry, then clapped him on the shoulder and went to fetch an extra mug for himself.

        By the time Noctis rose, the mugs of tea stood empty, and Prompto’s nerves had calmed considerably. Noct looked strained and sullen, and seemed to purposely avoid Prompto when he spoke.

        ‘We ready?’

        ‘You don’t want anything before you go?’

        ‘No. Let’s just get this over with.’ A sharp intake of breath followed, then Noctis shrugged his jacket on and started walking. Prompto did his best to return the sympathetic glance Ignis gave him, but he wasn’t really feeling it. The tea should have warmed him up, but all it had done was make him able to feel the cold.  
  


 

They made it to the entrance of Steyliff Grove without encountering any daemons. Again, this was suspicious, but the atmosphere was needle-sharp so Prompto kept his thoughts to himself. The entire journey had been made in near-silence, so it was a shock to hear Aranea’s voice, strong and sonorous, greet them. Despite her crude manner of speech, it sounded almost mythical amid the vines and rough-hewn stone uplit from their flashlights.

        ‘I was beginning to wonder when you fellas would show. It’s so damn late, even the Chancellor decided to call it a night. Didn’t have second thoughts, did you?’ She was seated on a mossy slab just inside the archway, which explained the echo. 

        Noctis scoffed. ‘Yeah. Right.’

        Aranea pushed her hair behind her, grey strands catching in the torchlight. She reached for her lance and stood up.

        ‘C’mon pretty boy, don’t get your panties in a bunch. Door’s open, so let’s get to it.’

        ‘Fine by me,’ Noctis retorted.

        ‘Biggs, Wedge, guard duty, now!’ The pair stopped their card game and bolted to attention. ‘If we’re not out by morning, start searching. Got it?’

        ‘Right you are, ma’am!’ Biggs all but shouted in that coarse drawl of his, and both guards saluted, facing out against the darkness. Aranea smirked and led off into the ruins.

        ‘Whoa! What’s with all this red stuff?’ Prompto hadn’t intended to speak, but as soon as he saw the glittering mineral veins threaded through the stonework, glowing and pulsing faintly against the dark, he couldn’t help himself. The veins had been curiously absent earlier that day. 

        Aranea made a noncommital noise. ‘Don’t know, don’t care, but it gets us inside.’ She crossed the hallway and pointed at the gaping maw that lay where previously there had been a heavy door.

        'Some sort of luminescent mineral, I suppose.’ Ignis was intrigued too, but he didn’t dally for long; both Aranea and Noctis were steaming ahead, each as keen as the other to get this over with.

        Immediately beyond the door was a flight of stairs that seemed endless. It was grimy, slippery and dark, and the sound of water dripping permeated everything. There were probably bugs hidden in every corner.

        ‘Great, this looks inviting,’ he said, trying to revive his tongue-in-cheek attitude. ‘Scary tunnel - what could go wrong?’

        Nobody replied, and he felt foolish for speaking up. 

        Another level deep into the ruins and he couldn’t bear the silence. He kicked up a low hum. Then it became a song, silly and half-hearted. ‘The stairs go ever on and on.’

        ‘Cut it out,’ Noct said, and there wasn’t much time for Prompto’s heart to sink after that, because daemons attacked them.

        Prompto summoned his gun instantly, adopting the usual battle stance, although this time he felt a raw twang of awkwardness; Ardyn’s face flashed across his mind. _You may call up your weapon, if it would make you feel more at ease._

        Noct and Ignis had already ploughed into the enemy, and Aranea was making short work of the stragglers, so luckily nobody saw him grimace. He kept his distance and shot at the fiends that tried to escape the flurry of swords and spears. It wasn’t much, but at least he contributed something. He could keep going. He had to.

        Another room, another nest of daemons. Aranea made small talk as they fought and picked their way through and most of the time Ignis was the one who talked back. The two were born pragmatists, and their personalities gelled surprisingly well. Prompto found watching them to be a good distraction from his own troubles, at least.

        It wasn’t enough to stop him jumping at every shadow. In each dark corner he saw crooked grins and golden eyes flickering like flame. He hung back during the fights so he wouldn’t have to risk feeling any unwanted touches. He tried to ignore the throbbing in his still-aching wrist, tried to readjust the wristband so both barcode and fresh bruises were covered, tried unsuccessfully to avoid thinking of Ardyn.

        He remained naively convinced he could do this, right up until they reached the underwater room. First thing they saw was a scintillating blue light across the stonework floor, which opened up into an otherworldly spectacle of light and colour when they turned the corner and ducked through the alcove entrance. The room was large, more an audience chamber than anything, and they had emerged on the upper levels of it, gazing down at the open space below.

        But nobody looked at the floor for long. The ceiling was the room’s pièce de résistance - a wall of water held there as if by some gravitational force. They weren’t immersed in water, they were entirely underneath it. The chamber was its own bubble, slumbering deep under the lake. Prompto felt his breath hitch in his throat; he didn’t like this room one bit. The water glowed sapphire and made swirling reflections on the stone beneath his feet, but somewhere beyond the spectacle it felt like that water was turning to oil, slicking down the walls and into the cracks in the old stone, permeating the structure entirely. His stomach began to turn, his legs grew unstable, and his mind gave him little warning before the drowning dream returned, dragging him under with phantom sensations, a weight in his throat he couldn’t expulse. He was at the back of the group and nobody paid attention - by the time he realised it was happening, Noctis had already stumbled out into the open, right into the path of three slumbering daemons.

        ‘Oh brother, you woke up the lich.’ Aranea sounded pissed.

        Ignis was readjusting his gloves, studying the rising wraithlike forms keenly. ’Ah, I’ve heard of these before. Keep your distance, everyone. Their magic is powerful.’

        The battle began. Prompto’s wrist ached as he tried to grip and aim, so he hung back as before. But the lich were fast, moving like snakes despite their eerily human forms.

        A whisper, a breath on the back of his neck. A heady burning smell like sandalwood. He span round, his surroundings drifting out of focus. Where there should have been a dizzying view to the ground level far below, there was nothing but a void before him. He looked into the darkness and it curved in towards him and smiled fondly, a parent waiting for a prodigal son. His wrist started burning, fibres of pain lancing across the points where Ardyn had grabbed him. The pain climbed up his spine and seeded dark tendrils into his brain, slowly encompassing all other senses until he was dimly aware that, somewhere, he was crying out.

        He heard Noctis scream something, and the panicked tone brought the world back into focus. He should have paid more attention: while he had been glitching out, one of the lich had backed him into a corner. The others were fenced off from him by a stream of mean-looking magic.

        Noct didn’t seem to care. He let the magic sear his skin, his clothing, in a sickly blue-green shimmer as he vaulted over the last stone block in his way and readied his sword to strike.

        ‘Wake up, Prompto! Now!’

        Prompto knew what he meant. Noctis needed him to fire a starshell, a flare to blind the enemy while he went in for the kill. He tried to react but it was too little too late. His hand seized up around the gun’s grip, pain lancing and twisting horribly. The gun misfired; the shot deflected off the floor and burst in front of Noctis instead.

        The lich shrieked, an unearthly sound that grated on the ear, then it took the opportunity to spin Noctis off-balance, throwing him backwards until his head hit the stone pillar with a resounding smack. 

        ‘Noct!’ His cries were shrill and desperate, and he fumbled for the gun, trying to bring everything under control so he didn’t mess up again. He dodged a stream of green flame from the lich, and ran over to the crumpled form, black hair hanging limp across pallid cheeks. Ignis and Aranea both shouted things behind him and moved in to deal with the remaining daemon, but he took little notice. His best friend was more important.

        After an agonizing second in which he feared the worst, he realised Noctis was still breathing. The prince raised a hand feebly to his head, opened his dusky eyes and smiled when he saw Prompto. _He must be dazed or something. He’ll remember he’s mad with me in a minute._

        ‘I’m - I’m sorry.’ Prompto could feel his bottom lip quivering. His eyes were watering and his head hurt so much, drumming and throbbing with the intensity of the last few minutes, but it was nothing compared to what he’d just done to Noct.

        ‘That how you make up, huh?’ Noctis smiled a strange half-smile, and Prompto genuinely couldn’t tell if it was forgiveness or frustration.

        ‘Seriously, man. I am so sorry.’ He reached out, but Noctis flinched instinctively - he actually _flinched_ \- and Prompto recoiled just as quickly, resting back on his heels, defeated.

        Ignis came to join them, and Prompto was glad to have someone more attentive take over. It turned out Noctis wasn’t concussed, just a bit shocked. That didn’t stop Prompto from repeated apologies, until Ignis calmed him.

        ‘It’s all right - the lich can have that effect. As I already mentioned, they’re powerful magic users. Now, are you sure you’re up to it, as far as the rest of the ruins are concerned? It may get harder from here on out.’

        Prompto chewed his tongue as he considered. He really didn’t want to hurt Noct again. The darkness was crowding him, the threat of the watery ceiling and the drowning dream making his hands shake. No - there was no chance he could wield his gun accurately in this state. Crushing disappointment constricted his chest: he was useless here. He knew it, they knew it.

        Ignis was still talking. ‘You don’t have to push yourself, you know.’

        He sighed, casting his eyes to the ground, noticing the small grains of dirt fallen between the slabs. ‘I’m not really helping, am I? I think I should go…’ His skin burned with embarrassment as he said the words aloud, his head thumped even louder, and he was tempted to just hightail it out of there.

        Noctis was still groggy, but his eyes were hard, his mouth slightly pursed. 

        ‘It’d be safer to stay with us, Prom.’

        ‘And do that to you again? Like hell!’

        ‘Ugh, let’s just continue, get this over with.’

        Prompto stood his ground at this, although he spoke quietly. ‘Look, I’m not feeling okay. Right now I’m… not in my right state of mind.’ He didn’t need to mention Ardyn’s name.

        Noctis fell silent.

        Aranea drove her spear against the ground with a sharp clang. ‘Chill, boys. Your Highness, if he wants to head back it might be for the best. My guards will escort him back to camp. It’ll be safer there.’ 

       Noctis sulked. Ignis said it sounded sensible enough, and that ended up being the tiebreaker. Prompto got to his feet, thanked Aranea, then backtracked up the staircase before Noctis could say anything. He felt heady and trembling, as though he’d downed a pint too quickly. But he’d made his decision.

 

  
The route back was easygoing. All daemons on the upper levels had been flushed out, so all he had to do was watch his step. The further he got from the watery chamber, the better he began to feel, until at last came the sensation of cool air on his cheeks, a slight ruffle of wind through his hair. Outside beckoned, and it was comforting.

        He walked slowly out of the entrance, settling his thoughts. The night sky had cleared up considerably, and a waxing gibbous moon now watched over the swampland with a baleful eye. Prompto spent a moment taking in his surroundings, something that wasn’t hard to do in the moonlight. He didn’t really need his flashlight at all.

        Aranea’s guards - what were their names, again? He couldn’t see them anywhere.

        A few metres beyond the archway, however, and he heard the sound of men talking. A pair of brash, drawling accents. That had to be them.

        He found them seated on a rock just round the entrance of the corner, keeping watch, but casually nattering away to each other. Biggs and Wedge, he recalled. As he approached their attention snapped to him, bulky bodies ready to act, but they relaxed quickly.

        ‘Oi, it’s you, whass’yer name?’ The one with the light grey uniform said, casting an eye back to his companion for help.

        ‘I only know the Prince’s name, honestly,’ said the one in the dark grey. ‘Aranea never gave us any more details. We never get all the details.’

        ‘Shut yer gob, Wedge.’ Ah, so light grey was Biggs. He rolled his eyes at his grumbling companion, then turned back to Prompto, who quickly introduced himself. Biggs nodded curtly. ‘So ‘ow come you’re out here, and not _in there_?’

        _Think quick, Prompto._

        ‘Yeah, I kinda don’t do too well in creepy, dark ruins.’ He gave a self-deprecating laugh, raised his eyebrows expectantly, and watched Biggs’s expression soften.

        ‘No shame in that, lad. ‘Appens to us all.’

        ‘So, um, Aranea said - ’

        ‘Let me guess: she said we’d escort you to your camp or summat?’

        ‘Yup.’ Prompto kept his tone light and clipped, dancing from foot to foot as he spoke and hoping he was successfully conveying a mixture of embarrassment and apology for the trouble he was causing.

        Wedge was more content to stay seated, but Biggs didn’t seem to mind the intrusion at all. He gathered up his hat, checked his weapons, then dipped into the slightest of bows. ‘Please to be of service, lad.’

        Biggs led him off through the thicket, all moonlit silver and grey and frosty evergreen, a darkened and icy version of the muggy, warm tones seen by daylight. They walked on, keeping to the high ground, and Prompto recalled that on the way back down here, Noctis had been keen to keep low, sticking to the swampy water, away from the clearings beneath the canopy. Even with the sahagin splashing around, it had seemed the better choice.

        Maybe he should say something on that note to Biggs.

        The ground evened out slightly, apart from a few noticeable dips. Tyre tracks in the clumped soil.

        Something oppressive hung heavy in the air. A smell of wood and embers, tinged with sickly sweetness quite unlike that of a campfire, filled his nostrils and it felt familiar. Why he thought of antique furniture hidden from sunlight behind heavy curtains, he had no idea, but the thought was melancholy and ominous at the same time.

        Then Biggs spoke up ahead, and he sounded confused.

        ‘Evenin’, Chancellor Izunia?’

        _Oh please, no._

        Prompto could feel the ground give way beneath him. Then came the voice he dreaded, sweet as sugar, hiding the blackened poison at the core of every grain.

        ‘Good evening, Biggs.’ And then Ardyn was there in front of them, leaning against a pillar - the pillar that led to the very clearing that started this mess - and with hip cocked and hat spinning casually on one fingertip, he looked positively lackadaisical, as though nothing could shake him. It was almost insulting after what had happened by the cliff, and it made Prompto’s belly churn with resentment. _How could he act so unaffected?_

        ‘Aranea said you was headed back already.’ Biggs was still trying to make sense of the situation.

        ‘Oh, I’m afraid I got delayed. Just tying up a few loose ends, as it were.’ Ardyn stretched languidly and stopped leaning, took two decisive steps forward. He focussed on the guard for a few seconds too long, then, still directing his words at Biggs, he flashed his eyes towards Prompto with relish. ‘He’s not giving you any trouble, I hope?’   

        ‘Not at all, Sir. I was jus’ takin’ ‘im back to camp, like. At Lady Aranea’s request.’

        ‘Of course.’ A knowing smirk to complement the silky words. It made Prompto’s chest burn. He’d bailed on the quest and Ardyn was enjoying this fact immensely. He was still looking at him, the whole time he was talking to Biggs he was just _looking_ at him and there were embers in his eyes and it was terrifying. All that initial resentment he’d felt was being replaced, patch by patch, with dread. Biggs started to say something but Ardyn interrupted him. ‘I do appreciate you taking the time to do this, but I wouldn’t want him to keep you from your guard duties.’

        Then it twigged. _He’s not going to suggest…_

        ‘Let me take him off your hands.’ Ardyn smiled, wide and welcoming and demonic, and the crawling sensation began to flicker across Prompto’s skin. He looked from Ardyn to Biggs and back again, his pulse, his breath, his fear all rising in tandem.

        Biggs had unwittingly delivered him straight back into the arms of the beast.


	5. Lay My Hands on Heaven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which truly terribly things happen, and Ardyn fulfils his obsession.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It goes without saying that, as I've hinted at previously, there are MASSIVE warnings for this chapter. It's a lot of hard-hitting non consensual smut.
> 
> Seriously don't read it, it's awful, I'm awful.
> 
>  
> 
> The title is from the Nine Inch Nails song 'The Only Time'. If you know it, you know where this is going.
> 
> It's not the end of the story - I can't just leave it on something so awful. So don't worry. Aftercare is needed, comfort will be had.
> 
> Ok you have been warned sufficiently now, if you're still with me then good luck, and without further ado:

Prompto hung back behind Biggs, watching Ardyn watch him, feeling the wind chill now more than ever. Not even a day had passed since he’d made the first mistake in this very clearing, and the rush of everything that had happened made him want to sink to the ground and give up. This was hopeless.

        Then Ardyn asked Biggs to hand him over, and his insides turned to ice.

        ‘You sure, Sir?’ Biggs didn’t sound convinced by Ardyn’s suggestion, but his tone suggested it was purely because he didn’t want to cause extra work for the Chancellor. Whatever tension was thickening up between Ardyn and Prompto, he was quite oblivious to it.

        Ardyn’s voice was creamy as latte, friendly and yet so thickly layered on it would be impossible for Biggs to tell what true intentions lay at the bottom. ‘Of course. In fact, this is an official order. I really don’t want Wedge left all on his own should he need to provide assistance for our dear Prince.’

        ‘Right you are, Sir.’ Biggs saluted, then turned to look at Prompto. His eyebrow creased slightly when he finally noticed Prompto’s pleading expression, and he said, ‘Don’t worry, lad. The Chancellor ‘ere knows the lay of this land better than us lot. You’re in safe hands.’

        Prompto wanted to scream. _No, I’m not! Don’t leave me alone with him!_ He panicked, trying to think of a way to tell Biggs that wouldn’t exacerbate the situation. What would make Biggs believe him? The guard just thought he was still startled from the ruins. _But even that had been Ardyn’s fault_. Ardyn was bound to openly deny anything, bound to twist his words in on himself again. So what could he say?

        He missed his chance. Biggs left, his footsteps receding into the shadows. Both Prompto and Ardyn stayed silent until the sound had died away, each gauging the other’s reactions, each waiting for the other to make the first move.

        Eventually it was Ardyn that broke the spell, stepping forward, hands raised in that familiar faux-welcome gesture. Every step that he took, Prompto matched it, moving backwards, keeping the distance.

        Then Ardyn stopped, and the only thing that stirred in the clearing was the gentle night wind. Moonlight broke through gaps in the canopy, dappling across their bodies, reflecting off the shiny metal of the car. A faint musk carried on the breeze, cloying and thick.

        ‘Come now, we’re hardly strangers. What’s there to be afraid of? _You know me_.’

        ‘T-that’s exactly what I’m afraid of.’

        ‘You haven’t forgotten what I said, have you?’

        ‘ _Fix me_ , right? Yeah, whatever that means.’ Prompto held his own arms, guarded and wary, trying to sound more confident than he actually was.

        ‘It means I will cure you of this silly notion that you belong with that spoiled brat they dare call a Lucian prince.’ Ardyn idly picked at a nail. ‘It means - you’ll finally know where you belong.’

        The ice dripped deeper through his veins. His earliest childhood memories, from a time before he could even speak, rose up from the dark well he kept them in. Cold metal upon metal, holding cells and laboratories that stripped his soul bare. The dark heart of Gralea, his birthplace, the cause of his nightmares and the reason for the skittishness and fear he’d felt his entire life.

        ‘I - I don’t want to go back to Niflheim!’

        Amusement danced over Ardyn’s face. ‘Send you back? Oh, no no _no_. You misunderstand me. You’re far more useful right where you are.’ Ardyn leaned back on one leg as he fixated on him. The more of Prompto he drank in, the thirstier he looked. When he topped it off with a deliberate lick of his lips, Prompto knew this was not going to end well. Not that any encounter with the man ever did. He was strung-out and panicked as he flashed back to the kiss, and his joints felt like coiled springs ready to speed him to safety. He had a choice - waste time summoning his gun and likely have it fail, or run from the devil with all his strength.

        ‘Hah, I’m fucked, aren’t I? Totally fucked.’ He laughed, desperation rattling out in his voice.

        Then he made a break for it. He raced for the first opening he saw amidst the shrubs. But Ardyn was faster. Prompto had thought he’d gotten a good headstart until he felt his arm wrench backward, shoulder socket tearing cruelly. The inertia rocked his head back only for Ardyn to grab it and shove him forward into the dirt. There was mud on his face, cold and slick, and in his mouth an unpleasant earthy taste. It was all so fast he had barely time to register it.

        ‘Now this sort of behaviour is exactly what I’m talking about. It just will not do.’ The musky smell - sandalwood and patchouli - grew stronger as Ardyn enveloped the space around him. Then Ardyn was pulling him towards the car. He dug his heels into the ground, scrabbled for purchase.

        ‘Get off!’

        ‘No.’

        Arydn kicked one leg out from under him, making him stumble to his knees, inches away from the rear of the car. He was facing him still, and he brought his knee up to collide with Prompto’s chin, sending him reeling against the car’s framework. His head banged harshly against the metal and he felt dizzy, felt the pain lancing up his neck. The thudding sound was familiar and he thought of Noctis, felt guilty, saw stars.

        The residual smell of gasoline filled his nostrils, mixed with the musk to create an unholy, smoldering incense. He was half-crouched, half-sitting, with one leg trapped underneath him and the other splayed out in front, no choice but to breathe in the scent. The leg beneath him was already tingling and he wondered if it would soon go dead.

        Ardyn straddled him, keeping his head held back against the car’s body. It was an awkward position: his spine curved into the dip of the wheel then angled again where the fender extruded. The spokes of the hubcap crushed against his vertebrae and there was no way to relieve the pressure in one area without increasing it in another. He pleaded to be let go, to be released, and was entirely ignored.

        ‘Don’t think I haven’t noticed the way you respond to the others. Anything to lighten their mood, eh? You do love to please people.’ He sighed, tracing a hand through Prompto’s hair. ‘I wonder if you’ll be as keen to please me.’

        Prompto paled when Ardyn began unzipping his fly. He recoiled as far as he could from where he lay trapped against the rear fender. Denial clamoured in his head. _This can’t be real, I must be dreaming._

       ’So how about that, hm? Want to give it a go?’ He freed his dick, the considerable length already springing to attention. Prompto flinched and turned his face away, distantly noting how cool the steel body of the car was against his burning cheek.

        Ardyn used his long, embellished sleeves to wipe the dirt from Prompto’s face. His ministrations were unnecessarily tender, to the point where Prompto felt heat pooling in his own groin. Then he pried his lips open with one hand, ignoring the boy’s protests, and used the other to guide himself in. When Prompto felt the offending flesh rake his teeth he was filled with an overwhelming urge to bite down, hard. As he felt it go further in, as the glans grazed his tongue, he couldn’t stand it any more. He bit.

        He was rewarded by Ardyn grabbing a fistful of hair and slamming his head not once, but twice against the fender. _That was a mistake, boy,_ Ardyn was saying, but Prompto barely noticed because the force of the hits had him so close to blacking out. His mind erupted in dizzying colour, his jaw slackened, and Ardyn used the lull to slam his cock mercilessly to the back of his throat. He fucked his mouth hard, cock thickening out in pleasure every time Prompto gagged. Tears wrenched from his eyes with every thrust, and spit dribbled down his chin to pool on his vest, on the crotch of his pants.

        He didn’t know what to do with his hands and he hated this fact - in a way it had been easier when Ardyn had grabbed them, rendered them unavailable. But he didn’t want Ardyn to hurt him again - his head ached so _goddamn_ much - so he dared not push the man away.

        He _hated_ this with every fibre of his being. He hated the sensation of fullness in his mouth; he hated the fact it made his own cock stir against the fabric of his pants. He hated the shame burning through his veins and the shit-eating grin plastered on Ardyn’s face. He was trying not to look, screwing his weeping eyes up tight, but the harder thrusts always ended up forcing his eyes wide open again.

        Ardyn seemed to take pleasure in talking idly once he had control of the situation again. Prompto wasn’t paying the words any special attention until he heard his own name spoken, strung out low and seductive in that husky tone. It stirred something inside him, a needy flush of recognition, which immediately made him feel both treasured and cold.

        ‘You know what my favourite thing about your little identity ‘reinvention’ is? No? It’s your last name. _Argentum_. See, it just rolls off the tongue like so.’

        He breathed out the word again. _Argentum_ \- it wormed its way deep into Prompto’s ears and god damn, it sounded like a sin when Ardyn said it. ‘You know, I much prefer silver to gold. Royalty was… never my thing.’

        And then, unexpectedly, Ardyn pulled away. Gasping for breath, Prompto opened his streaming eyes, heard the latch click on the car door next to him. There was the bassy clang as Ardyn yanked it open, and it was time for fresh panic.

        ‘Where are you taking me?’

        ‘My dear boy, the question is not ‘where’, but ‘how’.’ A firm grip on each side of his jacket collar, and Ardyn hoisted him up to his feet. His mind reached the blackest of pits when he realised what the words meant. _Ardyn was going to fuck him_. Sucking him off had only been the warm-up act. He screamed out his denial, and resisted heavily when Ardyn began dragging him to the open door.

        ‘Now, now. You know what happens when you struggle.’

        But he didn’t stop: he was too panicked, too desperate. Ardyn’s voice grew sharp, irritated. ‘This is taking too much time.’

        If Prompto had been less afraid, he would have made a quip along the lines of _Killing your boner, am I?_ But Ardyn’s expression lacked all humour, and it terrified him beyond measure. Ardyn wrestled him down to stop his struggling, and when he had control once more, all pressed up against him, his erection pulsed with renewed vigour against the thin fabric covering Prompto’s stomach. The man really got off on holding him down - this fact rolled around in his head longer than he wanted it to, and it set the bile stirring in his belly.

        ‘Time is such a bothersome thing,’ Ardyn murmured. ‘How about I pull out some of the stitches. Just for a moment. Give you a… sneak preview, as it were.’

        The world contorted, twisted in on itself and Ardyn was still at the centre of it all, fixed on him while their surroundings changed. Prompto felt nauseous, and right before the sick feeling reached a peak, the world snapped back in to a new setting, a new reality.

        He was somewhere dark and rusted. Metal bars scissored pale light from a dying fluorescent tube bulb. It was cold, colder than the Vesperpool. And it was grimy. The stench of death filled the air.

        His arms hurt. He twitched, tried to move them, and realised they were strung up either side of him in a perverse crucifix, held in place by metal cuffs to some unholy device. His barcode tattoo was itching unbearably. This was an echo of the position Ardyn had held him in against the rock, only this time Ardyn was just standing in front of him, not touching, merely watching as the metal cuffs did all the work.

        Gralea. This was Gralea. What had Ardyn done? Was he really here? It absolutely couldn’t be real. His skin trembled, then his whole body shook. His tears were the only warmth he felt.

        ‘We have all this to come,’ said Ardyn, stroking his cheek in mock-affection. ‘But for now, let’s return to the present.’

        The world shunted to the side again, dragging him through wisping tendrils of reality until his childhood nightmare was gone and a new nightmare began. When his surroundings resolved, he found himself lying on the backseat of the car, with Ardyn pulling at his clothes.

        His vest was pulled up, exposing his chest, and he had no idea where his jacket had gone. His legs were cold - Ardyn had already shucked down his pants and underwear, and had freed his left leg entirely but hadn’t quite gotten around to the right yet. His left boot was gone, but his right was still on, trapped beneath the pooling of jeans fabric.

        Ardyn was on top of him, and his hair looked like blood under the sallow glow of the car’s interior light. The man had removed his voluminous coat, and unbuttoned his shirt to reveal his bare chest, which he seemed intent on pressing to Prompto’s body as close as possible.

        Prompto reacted viscerally to this. He kicked upward, shouting for help, pushing for Ardyn to get off him. Ardyn responded by hitching his vest up over his head completely, and dragging it up into a bundle around his wrists. But this alone was not sufficient: he ripped off his own scarf, already loosened around his neck, and tied his wrists tighter, then knelt cruelly into his ribs as he stretched over to open the opposite door, and trap the scarf ends in it.

        Prompto gasped for breath, recovering from the pressure on his chest, then tugged on the fabric that held his wrists in a frenzy. Not much slack to work with, and the thing was trapped fast in the door - every pull just seemed to make it tighter. He was now completely at Ardyn’s mercy. His shouts melted into pleading whimpers.

        Ardyn gazed down upon him, hair dropping forward in waves, framing his face. The hollowed pits of his eye sockets made his eyes seem all the more daemonic when they glinted in the yellow light, and at this angle his jawline cut an almost regal shape. He looked utterly delighted watching his mark whimper, and Prompto realised he had switched the light on in the car purely in order to look at him.

        ‘You’re so _fucking_ beautiful, Astrals - I just want to _destroy_ you.’

        And he touched him tenderly, far too tenderly for the situation he was in, fingers stroking down his face so softly, almost in worship. ‘Will you let me destroy you?’ He spoke as if Prompto had a choice. Then he smiled wide, and stopped caressing him. ‘Of course you will.’

        Ardyn cinched Prompto’s resisting legs up towards his chest, exposing his rear. He slid one hand down to cup his buttcheek, then traced a path further round until he was circling his entrance with a fingertip. He moved his fingers back, sharply, to Prompto’s mouth. ‘Lather them up for me. Make it hurt less, pet.’ Wide-eyed, Prompto complied, letting the man swab his foul fingers in the pooling saliva pits between cheek and jaw, the wet hollow beneath his tongue. This was as clear an indication as any that Ardyn didn’t have lube. He didn’t know what to expect - he’d never done this before - but he was terrified. Saliva wouldn’t be enough, surely? What a cruel thing for him to say when he knew damn well this was going to hurt anyway.

        He sobbed into the finger-fucking motion until Ardyn grew bored and returned to teasing his asshole open. The first slick sensation forced a shiver up his spine and he yelped. It was confusing. It was almost nice. He hated it.

        Ardyn stretched the skin slowly, working a second finger in, taking delight in the cries his attentions brought. He slid his fingers out, then used both hands to angle Prompto’s ass higher up. He aligned his dick, rock-solid and pulsing, against Prompto’s entrance and pushed in, slowly.

        Prompto was aware he was speaking, rebelling still, saying he wasn’t ready. The threat that _this was going to hurt_ was stuck on repeat and he receded further into his mind. Then came the slight pop as the head of Ardyn’s cock broke past the tight ring of muscle. He was stretched, impossibly so, and he was sure it would tear. He could feel it tearing. It hurt. Ardyn moved slow, gradually inching himself deeper inside, hitting bundles of nerves and sending unreal shivers through his body. He shook, gritting his teeth, hearing the most shameful submissive noises rip from his throat.

        Ardyn rocked his hips in a pleasurable motion, taking his time until he felt Prompto loosen up. He grazed over a point deep inside, wringing an uncomfortably indulgent cry from Prompto’s lips. Then he drove harder, and the searing pain returned. This wasn’t possible, it shouldn’t fit. Prompto felt his muscles alternate between clenching and giving up. He settled for praying that Ardyn would just hurry it up, get it over with. _Just drift._

        He felt his eyes turn glassy, felt the steaming space in the back of the car grow fuzzy and out of focus. But he had hardly the time to enjoy leaving his body; Ardyn’s voice cut right through to his soul.

        ‘No, no, we can’t have you zoning out. Takes away the fun.’ Then, the sensation of stubble scratching across his collarbone, gentle kisses, moving up to his mouth, tongue flickering in and just taking, taking, taking. After agonising soft moments, Ardyn moved back, pulled his dick almost entirely out of his hole, then in one fluid motion, rammed it back inside.

        Prompto screamed.

        ‘Do try to keep up,’ Ardyn sang. He kept chatting, holding his attention while he kept up this crueller rhythm. ‘It’s a curious thing, though. You do seem to enjoy this.’ He was looking at Prompto’s own erection, not fully up but nonetheless pulsing and quivering in response to the stimulation. Prompto felt shame wash over him, a wave much bigger than he expected, both hot and cold at the same time. He wanted to just submit to it. He wanted to die. He wanted to not exist.

        Ardyn was still talking. ‘Put your mind back to Gralea.’

         _No, I don’t want to._

        ‘Do you remember me from those short years you spent there?’

         _No._

        ‘Well, do you?’

        ‘No!’ Prompto cried this out, if only to stop Ardyn grabbing his face, forcing him to look while he fucked deeper and harder.

        ‘Of course not. You were too young.’ The emphasis on the last word as he thrust deep was enough to make Prompto mewl.

        ‘Verstael may be your father, but he’s not the one who owns you.’ Ardyn leaned in to pepper his jawline with kisses, moving up to his ear. Prompto could hear the wet smack of lips parting into a smile, then Ardyn whispered, practically _purred_. ‘Can you guess who that might be?’

        When he offered no reply, Ardyn gripped his neck, all hint of softness replaced by urgency.

        ‘Tell me I own you.’

        Prompto cried. ‘N-no, please…’

        ‘Tell me.’ He gripped harder, thrust harder.

        ‘Y-you do.’

        Ardyn’s voice was inside him, filling him up, seeping through his consciousness, riling up into rapture. ‘That’s right. Gods, you’re such a _trooper_ , taking this so well.’

        And then Ardyn was coming inside him, panting and groaning gutturally. The little pulsing aftershocks made his buttcheeks quiver, but Ardyn wasn’t keen on pulling out just yet. His dick was still semi-hard, and he was laughing - not in his usual shallow, sardonic way. No, this was a deep sound of triumph. Ardyn exulted in his work, and as he gained control of his ragged breath, he decided to take Prompto’s away. Ardyn’s hands tightened around his throat. In short time his lungs were burning and he was bucking upward, to Ardyn’s immense delight. Shit, he might actually die here. That bastard smile might be the last thing he’d ever see.

        ‘Ah, you naughty thing. You may make me ready to go _again_.’

        Prompto struggled haplessly as his dizziness grew, but he was pinned by the dick in his ass, the weight of Ardyn’s body on his upturned thighs, and the hands crushing around his windpipe.

        ‘I shall so miss this. Well, until we meet again,’ Ardyn was saying in that jaunty, singsong voice, although it was sounding further away by the second. This was it - this was -  


He came to and he was alone. The car was gone. Ardyn was gone. It was just the soaked ground and the tyre tracks and his shivering, battered body laid out amid the dappled moonlight. He was fully clothed, although roughly so. His pants were pulled back up but the zip was still undone. His boots were shoved on but not done up. His vest was back covering his chest, and his jacket was draped over his shoulders.

        Bugs scuttled through the exhumed detritus beneath his face and this made him sit up, startled and grossed out and then everything hit him with full ferocity and he curled his knees inward, hating the aching in his hips, and sobbed his heart out. Every time he thought he was all cried out, the terror took him again and he was back in that place where his chest was burning and his head was spinning. His ass ached; he was pretty sure he was bleeding, but he didn’t want to check. His penis was still semi-hard, and accompanying that fact was the unbearable feeling of anti-climax. Ardyn hadn’t cared about letting him get off, and he didn’t know whether that was better or worse. Right now he was saddled with a burning heat in his groin, the kind of feeling that sometimes accompanied morning wood, and the kind of feeling he’d usually deal with by knocking off a quick one in the shower. But there was no way in hell he could touch himself now without Ardyn invading his mind once more. He didn’t want that darkness again.

        After a while he zipped up his pants, put on his jacket and patted down his clothes, his hair, tried to make himself presentable. He was aware how pathetic he must look, sat despondent in a dirty forest, fussing over his appearance. But he felt compelled to cover it up - not just because he was scared of telling, but he didn’t feel he _could_ tell anyone right now.

        He had to get back to camp before the others finished their mission. They had to be nearly done by now. He couldn’t read the sky like Ignis could, so had no idea what the position of the moon signified. He just knew he had to hurry.

        As he made his way back to camp, a severe loneliness gnawed at his insides, something he hadn’t felt since childhood. This was his burden. He didn’t want Noctis to feel bad. He didn’t want to keep ruining things for people.

         _He shouldn’t have taken the damn photo in the first place._


	6. Black Holes in the Sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which mythril is obtained, and shadows start to show through the cracks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come on join the angst train~
> 
> \--------------------  
> The title of this chapter is a mashup of lyrics from the song 'Bullets' by Archive, which is a very fitting song for Prompto.  
> \--------------------

Prompto made it back to the campsite, but he had no memory of exactly how he managed it. Time was passing by as though he was drunk, speeding up then lengthening while the world distorted around him. Horizons smudged into the foreground and colours pooled in the corners of his eyes. There was a hissing in the air, could have been the wind, could have been insects, could have been nothing more than the static in his head. He ignored it. He had only one directive: keep moving forward. Don’t let thoughts catch up.

        Now he lay curled up in the tent, soft canvas of his sleeping bag pressed up against his face and clenched round his fists, held tight to his chest. He didn’t remember lying down, but he remembered trying to get into the tent, how stiff the zipper had been, how it had made his hands tremble. He lay there facing the exit, and if he had closed his eyes at any point, he wasn’t aware of doing so.

        Noctis and Ignis did not return until the hissing sound had resolved into the gentle chatter of early morning birdsong. Dawn broke like a rolling wave, making the tent fabric glow pastel blue. Somehow the idea of light outside was terrifying. Prompto’s heart beat all too fast when he heard footsteps approaching. Then Ignis, calling for him. He controlled his breathing, then responded.

        ‘Yeah, I’m here.’ Damn, his voice was more cracked than he’d expected. And gods, his jaw ached.

         _Ignore why. Open the tent, greet them before they come in and corner you._

        He set his face. A well-rehearsed smile, hiding the sadness. He’d had years of practise. Satisfied enough, he scrambled out into the open.

        His friends looked utterly exhausted and were covered in dirt and grime - the result of a long night’s traipsing through the ruins. This worked well to cover up his own uncleanliness. He relaxed, and beamed at them. He had planned on saying something, but words left him entirely, and he settled for sticking his hands into his pockets and swaying from foot to foot. The rhythm was steady, distracting, and hopefully natural.

        ‘We, uh, got the mythril,’ said Noctis. He sounded subdued, and he was rubbing the back of his neck, looking off to the side. Ignis stepped in, said what Noctis looked like he wanted to say.

        ‘You look like you’ve had about as much sleep as we did.’

        ‘Eh.’ He shrugged, trying to keep casual posture, but his back ached and his shoulders locked up awkwardly. He didn’t know where to rest his eyes. Crap, this was coming off as avoidant.

        ‘Prompto, is everything okay?’

        Prompto winced internally. That last coat of armour he called a smile was thin gauze covering a deep wound and he could feel the distress leaking through. They were totally noticing. He should be better at this.

        ‘’Course!’ 

        He waited for the denial, but Ignis merely smiled back. 

        ‘Glad to hear it.’

        Noctis started making for the tent, barely suppressing a groan, but Ignis stopped him. 

        ‘No, we’re going back to Lestallum. You may rest there, but I’ve said already I would rather we all leave this place as soon as possible.’

        ‘Ugh. S’long as you’re driving, Specs.’ Noctis kicked his feet and idly began collecting his bags. 

        Ignis groaned, but it turned into an excessive yawn. Noctis snorted.

        ‘Should’ve taken the free lift.’

        Ignis ignored his goading, then turned to Prompto to explain. 

        ‘Commodore Aranea had offered to take us back via dropship, but I thought it best to politely decline. We don’t want to rely on the Empire any more than we already have.’

        This was a huge relief. They had only been in one dropship so far - when Ardyn had rescued them from Titan - and the thought of going back into one of those things, of being strapped into those seats and surrounded by Magitek Troopers staring at him with soulless eyes, was more than he could stand. The sheer fright he’d felt the first time, thinking his barcode would activate beneath the straps and it would be _game over_ , that he’d be consigned to the fate he’d once avoided.

        No. Anything but that. 

        Noctis and Ignis were working at packing up the campsite, silent but for the odd instruction from Ignis, and inevitable grumpy retort from Noct. Prompto stuck to the sidelines. He was aware he was spacing out, but nobody called him up on it. He managed to pack away his own sleeping bag, but even then Ignis whisked it out of his hands immediately once he was done.

        The atmosphere no longer felt tense as it did on the way down into the valley. Now it was more like the quiet exhaustion that came at the end of a raucous house party, when all that was left to do was clear up the broken glass and usher out the stragglers.

        It was only when Ignis started packing their things into the car boot that it hit him. Driving back to Lestallum was the better option, but then, of course, he’d have to _get in the car._

         _It’s okay. It’s just the Regalia._

        He wasn’t aware of how it happened, but Ignis had one arm round his shoulders, and the other hand held his forearm lightly, guiding him forward. He had been letting it happen up until now, for no reason other than lack of focus. Ignis squeezed his arm just a little too hard then reached for the car door, and his heart thumped. It became too real. 

        ‘No! Let me.’ He twitched his arms away from Ignis and opened the door himself.

        Ignis stuttered a surprised apology, but thankfully kept his distance while he watched Prompto enter the car and settle himself in the front seat. This was a much harder act than Prompto let on, but he was acutely aware of the focus on him and he didn’t want to do it wrong, didn’t want to make Ignis worry.

         _After all, you’re good at pleasing people, right?_

        The voice was so real it could have come from the driver’s seat right next to him. But there was nobody there. Ignis was only just starting to walk around the front of the car. Noctis was shuffling about in the back, trying to get comfortable. Prompto guiltily looked down, knitted his hands together, ignored the illusion.

        ‘Prompto, you always go in the front,’ Noctis moaned. ‘Can’t we swap, for once?’

        He froze up. Noctis was just trying to lighten the mood, he knew this. Noctis had no idea. No way was he swapping to the back. But how could he respond to this without having to _remember?_

       _Quick, think of something._

        ‘Dude, you’re tired, right? You know there’s more space to stretch out in the back. You… you can crash on the way.’

        ‘He’s got a point there,’ Ignis added.

        ‘Fine.’ Noctis groaned, but it was half-hearted enough to tell he wasn’t annoyed.

        Ignis belted up, opened a can of coffee and settled it in the cuprest. Then they were on their way to Lestallum, leaving the cloying, humid Vesperpool behind. The car climbed higher up the mountain pass, and the breeze grew drier. The heaviness lifted.

        Prompto didn’t recall if he had slept in the tent or not. He could have just been staring at the canvas for five hours. Or however long it had been. But he was tired, and he wanted to let go. A scary prospect, closing his eyes, but he was safe now. Right?

        Noctis was trying to steer the music in a calming direction, something that was tricky considering his penchant for loud melancholic rock. Every so often, this meant Prompto had just managed to relax against the headrest when the blip of skipping an aggressive song jolted him upright. But this was okay. Noctis was being shy about it, but he was trying to be nice.

  
The rush of asphalt speeding past beneath the wheels was hypnotic. It lulled Prompto into a delicious mental state where all that was expected of him was to drift. Where he was _allowed_ to zone out. He didn’t focus on the time of day, but by the time they pulled into Lestallum the sun was long past its zenith, casting soft shadows in the ochre streets. The heat was sweltering.

        Noctis booked the usual room at the Leville Hotel, then crashed out almost immediately, falling into bed like a dog amid a pile of leaves. Prompto perched hesitantly on the end of his own bed, a little jealous of the prince’s ability to sleep under almost any circumstance. He was tired, so tired, but now that it came to it, he felt like he couldn’t let himself do the same.

        Ignis pottered around for a bit, but eventually he too joined Noctis, leaving Prompto to his thoughts.

        The room grew still. The air in Lestallum was hot and dry and it kicked up the dust in the room and made his throat itch. The door leading to the balcony was open, and the shutters didn’t so much as flutter. The breeze was dead. Prompto could feel sweat pooling in his armpits and he wiped it away with the end of his vest in agitation. It clung to his skin too much, no, it wasn’t good.

        Although the afternoon sun filtered through voile curtains and open windows, there were shadows clawing up the walls amid the warm orange light. Prompto didn’t need to glance into the corners to see this: he knew they were there. Clamouring for attention, begging him to just _look_.

        He pressed his hands into the mattress, focussing on the soft sensation. Then the back of his neck prickled, and he felt the room twist and distort while a heavy pressure dipped into the mattress beside him. He flinched. The noise in his head again told him to look, and this time, he did. 

        Ardyn was sitting next to him, surrounded in shadows, a discrepancy in the afternoon light. It made no sense. His eyes were heavy with lust, exactly as they had been the last time he’d seen them. Smoldering. Delighted. His voice was surprisingly resonant, striking chills through him. How it didn’t wake his friends, he had no idea. But it was real.

        _Still awake? I’m surprised you don’t need a rest, after all that._

        He cried out, jumped off the bed. There was a flash - or had he just blinked? - and Ardyn was gone.

        Ignis woke up, scrambling out of bed like a shot, keen eyes glancing round the room as he reached for his knives.

        ‘What’s happening?’

        ‘I… I don’t know.’ Prompto didn’t care about the trembling in his voice, he was too busy staring at the spot where Ardyn had been. There wasn’t even a sign of a bodily depression in the bed, aside from his own. His shoulders shook and he collapsed back onto the mattress with a sigh that travelled up and down his vocal register like a rollercoaster.

        Noct, of course, continued snoring lightly through the whole thing. It sounded so normal it was making him feel crazy.

        Shit, he could feel tears gathering. He couldn’t cry, it was so, so stupid. He couldn't put this on Ignis…

        The first drops fell and splashed cold against his clenched hands. He sniffed immediately, trying to stop it.

        ‘Shh. You’re quite safe.’ Ignis sat beside him, occupying the space Ardyn had left, and hugged him. Unlike Ardyn, his grip was gentle and comforting. The first few seconds were difficult, then Prompto was overwhelmed by the relief it gave him. Having someone _care_ felt wonderful, although he really didn’t deserve it.

        Someone rapped on the door three times, and both of them snapped to attention, eyes on the exit. Prompto was terrified, but secretly glad that Ignis had heard it too.

        ‘Who is it?’ Ignis spoke up, and Prompto noticed he sounded too guarded, too cautious. It was probably his own fault for putting Ignis on high alert like that. The furrow in Ignis’s brow loosened up when the reply came.

        ‘The name’s Holly. I heard you fellas wanted someone to treat your mythril.’

        Ignis made no reply, but loosened his hold on Prompto and reached for his knives again. After a moment of stillness, the intruder continued.

        ‘Cindy sent me.’

        Ignis exhaled. ‘Very well. Give us a moment, and we’ll open the door.’

        ‘Fantastic, fellas. There’s, uh, one more thing, though. The power plant’s been overrun by daemons. Cindy said you folks were hunters, d’ya think you could sort it out for me?’

        ‘Well, out of the frying pan, as they say.’ Ignis winked at Prompto, then stood up and re-sheathed his knives. ‘Let’s get to it, shall we?’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is more comfort to come, don't you worry! I'm not letting him off with just one tiny hug from Ignis.
> 
> It's just taking far longer to plough through than expected orz


	7. Before the Bite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which hiding the evidence is a lot harder than Prompto expects.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh I made myself sad. 
> 
> \----------------------  
> Chapter title is from Electro Glide in Blue, by Apollo 440
> 
> \----------------------

Prompto didn’t end up going with them to the power plant.

        It turned out Holly had only needed Noctis’s help anyway, so Ignis was back at the hotel as well, and had taken to the hotel’s lobby, working out some logistical detail with the staff. This was meant to give Prompto space to rest, but it wasn’t really working.

        Night had drawn in, and the lively city was stirring. Prompto was blocking it out by imagining vast, open spaces - the sunset he’d shot before everything had gone wrong - but even still, his imagination could only get him so far. Reality was made of more than sights and sounds: it was made of bruises that bloomed purple through the dusky sunset his mind was trying desperately to picture, it was made of nerve pain that lanced like raindrops, obscuring the photograph he was trying to retake in his mind. These bodily sensations pinched through his fantasies, and he was trying to keep still so he didn’t have to deal with it, but eventually he had to move. He needed to use the bathroom.

        It wasn’t a good experience. From fumbling around to pull his pants down, to feeling his hips ache as he sat on the toilet seat, to trying fervently to clean the slick, half-dried mess off his skin, it was enough to make him shake. He strained too hard to get everything out, and that, too, made it hurt more. There were trace amounts of blood. It was agony, but it didn’t stop him wanting to tear his skin off. He had to -

        There was a clunk, and his forehead felt cold all of a sudden. So were his elbows. He realised he’d slumped onto the low sink beside the toilet, arms hugging the porcelain, head pressed hard against the firmness. He was groaning and mumbling and gods, it sounded stupid.

         _Stop it. Get a grip._

        He had to take a shower.

 

The Leville had heated floors and high-pressure showers that ran warmer than the rock of Ravatogh; one of the power plant’s many benefits. Prompto had always loved freshening up in this hotel, and this time should be no different. Would be no different. _The shower gel they have here is real nice, just think about that._

        He removed his boots, but never got further. The thought of leaving his sullied clothes bundled in the corner for housekeeping to deal with was too humiliating. Better if he could deal with it himself. So he turned on the shower and just stepped in fully-clothed. He let his clothes soak right through before attempting to remove them. Uncomfortable, but necessary. The fabric was plastered to his skin and difficult to prise off, but at least the worst of the evidence was washed away. He hung the saturated garments over the top of the shower rail, letting them drip.

        Now completely naked, he turned up the shower temperature to near-scalding until he could imagine it was peeling away his skin, flushing out every pore. It was like a full-body embrace, and he fell into the comfort, started lathering up the shower gel, started scrubbing the filth away.

        It only became a problem when the shower gel’s lubricating properties brought his dick to attention. The anticlimax from earlier was still nestled in his veins like a poison. At first his insides crawled, then something dark and delicious rose up his spine, begging him to just _touch_.

         _Shit_. He needed to get off - the trembling in his groin was damn near unbearable - but he couldn’t do it himself. It felt wrong, like he’d be as bad as _him_. And he already felt responsible enough as it was.

         _Nobody has to know._

        So he imagined Ardyn behind him, prying hands stroking and taking hold of his shaft. The feeling was repulsive and electric, and he pumped harder, leaving only one small part of his mind wondering why the fuck he was doing this.

       _I can’t explain why, but it makes sense. Gods, it just makes sense._

        He sobbed into the motion, let the heat and the traction stimulate him further until he was pushing up against the tile. The shadow at his back was strong and he could hear indistinct murmurs in the air around him, filling the spaces beyond the hissing of the shower spray. It was intoxicating, and it was okay that it frightened him. He wasn’t keen on being kind to himself.

        Then a shiver coursed through his groin, from his balls to the tip of his cock. The feeling surged, reached a peak, grew uncontrollable.

        He came violently, one hand milking his cock for all it was worth, the other hand pressed up against his forehead, gripping his own hair hard. The pain helped.

        The water continued to stream down, and he sank to the floor along with it, muttering apologies to nobody.

 

He didn’t get out of the shower until he was sure he was completely clean. He’d been in there so long the water had gone tepid and wrinkled up the skin on his fingers. His dick was limp and unresponsive, and this was fine. Hopefully it meant he wouldn’t have to deal with those feelings again, at least for a while.

         _Ugh, this is so fucked up._

        But nevermind that. He had his casual clothes in his bag, just had to put them on and try to relax until Noctis returned. He didn’t want to look at himself in the mirror, but he had to check the bruises. His wristbands covered the marks on his forearms just fine, and as for his thighs, nobody was going to be looking at them anyway. The upper arms could be easily explained away by that first encounter.

        He traced the outline of the blossoming bruises on his neck, bruises that nobody had noticed until now thanks to the dirt and grime. His casual jacket would be perfect for this: the collar rose high enough to cover the evidence. In a day’s time the marks would turn ugly and dark, and he’d be extra glad of his fashion choices. This way he could avoid wearing a scarf.

        He spent half an hour dressing and styling his hair, only to flop onto the bed and mess it all up again. It didn’t matter. He’d just wanted the routine, anyway.

        He breathed in. Closed his eyes. Opened his mind to find himself in a snowy refuge. A place from his childhood, a place that was quiet but for the crinkling snowdrifts and gently falling flakes. It was one of his earliest memories, and it was the safest refuge he had. Along with the beauty of the place came the sense that somebody was protecting him, speeding him far from danger along the gorgeous icy pathways.

        This was a much better way to lose his breath.

        Eventually he breathed out, and opened his eyes. He was back in the hotel room in dusty, sweltering Lestallum. He was alone but he could hear activity, endless voices clamouring in the night outside and it made his skin prickle. No, he longed for the white open space again.

        He buried his face in the pillow. The smell of fresh linen pressed into him, and he wondered idly if that alone would clean the stains away. He wanted the world to be soft.

        The door creaked. Prompto’s eyes snapped open, his shoulders tensed. He scrambled upright, ready to flee. What was that burning in his chest? It was stronger and more commanding than instinct, and it drove him to scratch at his fingertips while he watched the door shudder open.

        ‘I thought you might like some tea.’

        Ignis stepped into the room, carrying two mugs. Prompto studied him: there, the tidy hairline, the thin-framed glasses, the smooth-shaven chin and the kind yet worried expression. It really was Ignis. He was safe. He forced his muscles to relax.

        ‘Um, yeah. That would be great.’

        He knew he must have seemed cagey as Ignis approached, because the man put one mug down on the bedside table, then retreated to the armchair by the wall. Prompto was grateful, but now Ignis was fixing him with this awful concerned look. The guilt burned.

        He didn’t want to focus on that, so he shifted attention to the mug, and took a small sip. Tea that was far too hot slicked his throat, lanced pain down it. So the next sip he decided to cool by swishing around his mouth first. His tongue was more resistant to the heat anyway, and he didn’t want to offend Ignis by not drinking. He held the dark, bitter liquid in his mouth, all wet and warm, and he thought of Ardyn.

        Ignis asked if he was okay, and he swallowed all too quickly, choking and spluttering. Raising a hand to his face, he found himself crying.

        ‘I… no, I… Can I just have some more tea?’ He didn’t wait for Ignis’s reply, fixing both hands round the mug and drinking deep. He burned his throat again but he didn’t wince this time.

        Ignis was saying something, it sounded like he was talking about the flavour of tea. But the dark tendrils had crawled their way in to the corners again, and there, once again, Ardyn was present in the room. He walked past Prompto with long, languid strides, utterly comfortable in the scene. He strode over to stand behind Ignis and that shouldn’t be possible, there was no space between the chair and the wall. Yet there he was, coarse mahogany hair wisping in a nonexistent breeze. He cocked his head towards Prompto, one eyebrow curving up suggestively, one finger raised to his smiling lips.

       _Shh._

        Then he was gone, and Prompto was left staring at the outdated wallpaper, the swirling patterns tripping over each other. What was happening, exactly? His eyes were losing focus. Everywhere from his stomach, his lungs, and up to his throat was burning. He was lightheaded, as if he’d been drinking, and his diaphragm moved, a retching motion that only swelled enough to nauseate. _I’m sorry, I’m sorry about everything,_ was what he felt, but his tongue was too thick to say it.

        He tried to smile.

        ‘Prompto, you don’t need to keep pretending everything’s fine.’

         _Shit, not convincing enough._

        Ignis fished a packet of tissues from his breast pocket, and handed them over. ‘I know something happened back there. Now, I’m not going to force you to tell me anything. But please… I’m here to listen. So know that you don’t need to suffer in silence.’

        ‘Uh, thanks.’

        Ignis returned to his chair, and they sat together quietly for a few minutes.

        ‘If you want my opinion, I can’t bloody stand that Ardyn fellow.’

        Oh, very clever. Ignis spoke offhandedly, but his words were carefully selected. It was all in the way he folded his arms and looked off to the side: Prompto had seen him do this countless times before when trying to tease information out of someone. He sighed.

        ‘Yeah. I wish he’d never… Ugh, Ignis, how did you know?’

        ‘I do pick up on the small things. You’ve been a lot jumpier than usual since that encounter. Your wrist seems injured. It’s the first time you’ve backed out from a fight, and you said yes to a cup of tea twice in the past day. Not to mention it would appear you just took a shower with your clothes on.’

        Prompto whipped his head round. Ah. He’d left the bathroom door open, with a direct line of sight to the dripping fabric slung over the shower rail. He grimaced, then focussed on his breathing. Yeah, none of this had escaped Ignis’s sight. Damn.

        ‘What happened? What went on that we didn’t see?’ Ignis spoke in a low, level tone. It wasn’t threatening, but it was incredibly firm.

        He clenched his hands tight, screwing up the eggshell fabric of his cargo pants.

        ‘Y’know, I’ve… I’ve been seeing him everywhere. In the Regalia, in the corners of this room. He keeps stalking around and telling me things. He was… he was right behind you just a second ago.’

        Ignis looked concerned, and fell deep into thought. Prompto could practically see his mind working to piece everything together.

        ‘And earlier, when you woke me up?’

        ‘Oh, that. Yeah. He was sitting next to me on the bed.’

        Ignis’s eyes widened.

        ‘Prompto, this is important. Did you encounter him at any point other than in that clearing, when we ran back for you?’

        ‘Uh, well…’

        ‘When you went out alone for that photo, for instance…’

        Damn, Ignis was too good at this. He cast his eyes to the floor.

        ‘What did he do, Prompto?’

        His heart skipped a beat and he decided there was no point in not telling him. Ignis would funnel the truth out of him eventually, anyway.

        ‘It was in the, uh, in the back of his car. I didn’t want him to. It… hurt.’ He paused to gather his breath. His heart rate was climbing again, tripping out of control. He tried to master it before he hyperventilated, then he settled on saying, ‘I don’t think I need to spell it out any further.’

        Ignis worried his lower lip. ‘Ah. As I feared.’ Wait, were his eyes filling with tears? Prompto couldn’t tell properly - Ignis’s glasses were in the way. He wanted to apologise, to back out of this ridiculous conversation, but Ignis had already stood up and was walking over to him. He didn’t sit on the bed next to him, but instead dropped to his knees, and held out a hand, which Prompto took mostly out of confusion. Ignis pressed his forehead to it, an outdated yet charming sign of concession.

        ‘Forgive me. I was meant to protect you.’

        Gods, he sounded so serious. It only served to increase Prompto’s own guilt.

        ‘No, please, it was my fault for…’

        ‘Don’t you dare say such a thing.’ Ignis was looking up at him now, and his eyes were fierce. ‘Don’t you dare.’

        ‘No, you don’t know…’

        ‘You’re trying to tell me it’s your fault he had sex with you?’

        ‘Well, I…’

        ‘He raped you. That is _not_ your fault.’

        Prompto felt his stomach churn at those words.

        ‘But it’s not _rape_ , though. It _can’t_ be.’ He had to deny it, because otherwise it would mean it was all real. He couldn’t stand feeling like a victim. A shiver rose up his body, so strong it twitched his head to one side and shook his shoulders. No, it just wasn’t true.

        Then Ignis was hugging him again, holding him fiercely, protectively. When it was over, Ignis stood up, and checked his teacup. ‘I should probably refill that.’

        Then muffled, yet familiar voices at the door. Noctis, and was that Gladio? His chest was thudding again, fit to burst.

        ‘Would you like me to mention any of this to them?’ Ignis asked, taking the opportunity while their companions were seemingly grappling with the keys outside.

        ‘Are you kidding? No way! I can’t tell Noctis, he’ll think it’s his fault.’

        ‘Noct just doesn’t know how to react. But he can see you’re suffering.’

        ‘Wait, he’s figured it out too?’

        ‘Not the details. But he can tell something has happened.’

        ‘Please, don’t tell him. I’m not ready.’

        Ignis nodded. ‘Don’t worry.’ Then he crossed the room, opened the door, chided the young prince stood fumbling about on the other side. ‘See, it works by putting the key in the lock, like so.’

        ‘I had no idea.’ Noctis’s sarcastic voice dripped into the room. Prompto looked up eagerly as Noctis walked in. His hair was flattened from sweat and exertion, and it obscured his eyes somewhat. He was leaning back on his hips more heavily than usual, so he was probably in a bit of pain. And yet, he looked a lot calmer. ‘Hey, Prom. Sleep well?’

        ‘Yeah! You got us the best room, as always.’ Prompto surprised himself with how happy he sounded. He completed the illusion by leaning back on the bed and kicking his feet. ‘Oh, to be royalty.’

        ‘Hey. Is no-one gonna say hi to me?’ Gladio walked in behind Noctis, holding a takeaway bag. He looked ragged, utterly exhausted, but pleased.

        ‘Gladio!’ Prompto didn’t need to put his mask on for this one: the smile was genuine.

        ‘Yeah, I totally had to save his ass in there.’ Noctis folded his arms and smirked.

        Ignis started chuckling. ‘So you went in for daemons, and came back with Gladiolus. Makes sense.’

        ‘Shut up, Specs.’ Gladio waved the bag in Prompto’s direction. ‘We got spicy skewers. Thought you’d appreciate that, kid.’

        The noise and activity in the room was getting overwhelming, but Prompto shoved the distress far back and kicked himself into gear. ‘Oh, you are _so_ on!’ He sprang over to the table, pushing the ashtray to one side, making room for the food. ‘So how come you came back now?’ Then he noticed the fresh scars. ‘Whoa. Looks like someone did a number on you.’

        ‘Oh man, it’s a long story. But you should see the other guy.’

        They ate together while Noctis and Gladio related their adventure. It was a calming kind of normality, and Prompto was glad everyone was keen to just talk as usual. He kept his front up, and nobody asked any more questions.

        Then, after dinner, Ignis and Gladio settled down to play a game of cards, and Noctis wandered out to the balcony, beckoning Prompto to follow.

 

Prompto was happy to follow suit, and when he joined Noctis out on the narrow balcony, he slapped him jovially on the back like usual, trying not to think about it being _weird_ , like Ardyn said. _No, ignore that! Act normal._

        ‘Dude, you totally rocked it at the power plant! Nice job.’

        Noctis had his elbows on the railing, and he was leaning in, deep in thought. But he reacted to Prompto’s words with a shy smile. Prompto settled in beside him, leaning against the railing and prodding a finger into the soft compost of the hanging baskets.

        The curtains were thin, but nonetheless Prompto felt like they were very cut off from the activity in the room. There was still the sound of partying in the streets below, but somehow, with the still and balmy night air and the room being so high up, he felt isolated where he hadn’t before. Isolated with Noctis. It was perfect.

        ‘I’ve been meaning to ask you how you’re doing,’ Noctis said, and immediately Prompto felt his insides coil tighter. He laughed, and it was a little too shallow.

        ‘Heh, I’m fine. What doesn’t kill me makes me stronger.’

        ‘Yeah, that’s true for battles, but… Look. I’m, uh, I’m sorry. Back there, I was a real idiot. I didn’t mean to make you feel bad, I… ’  Noctis paused to pinch the bridge of his nose. He looked up at the moon, which was starting to peek out from behind a thin streak of cloud. ‘I just really care about you, okay? Seeing him threaten you was more than I could take.’

        The words rolled around like a storm in Prompto’s head. _More than I could take_. No, this was all wrong. Noctis wasn’t allowed to blame himself. And, gods, he didn’t even know the half of it.

        Prompto bit down anxiously on his lower lip. He had no words.

        ‘You’re putting this all on yourself, I can tell.’ There was a hint of amusement in Noctis’s voice, but there was sadness too.

        Immediately he denied it, but Noctis shushed him.

        ‘Let me apologise, goddamn it.’

        ‘You really don’t need to…’

        ‘No, I need to tell you this.’ Noctis turned to face him, and his soft almond eyes narrowed as he focussed entirely on Prompto. They were quite hypnotic, especially all lit up in the glow of streetlamps, especially on such a warm and tempered night. Prompto had dreamed of moments like this, but he’d never expected it to come now, in the midst of all this chaos. Ardyn was still beneath his skin, making it crawl, stealing his attention from this precious moment as Noctis leaned closer and smiled forlornly. ‘I messed up. And I didn’t mean any of what I said. You’re not dumb.’

         _This can’t be real._ That thought was becoming a bit of a theme recently. Noctis looked so submissive, and he couldn’t bear to be elevated in comparison. Having that kind of power was too much like Ardyn, and it felt like he was manipulating Noctis, even though he’d never dream of it. He didn’t want it. And besides, he’d already accepted his guilt. Noctis couldn’t go about changing that now.

        He felt like he was about to cry again. He focussed on a palm tree far below, strung up with fairy lights outside an all-night street food stand. He stared too hard, burning the afterimage of the lights onto his retinas. Then he flinched. Noctis had taken hold of his hand.

        His eyes darted to Noctis again and they shared a shy smile.

        ‘Dude, I hate to sound like a broken record here, but I really don’t deserve you.’

        ‘Oh, shut up, Princess.’ Noctis loosened his grip on Prompto’s hand just to swipe playfully at his head. Prompto dodged it expertly. His smile was so wide, so genuine, it felt alien after the last few days. But it was good to feel this normal again.

        ‘As you command, my liege.’ Prompto performed an overly flowery bow, which drew a laugh from Noctis.

        ‘You dork.’ Then Noctis hugged him tight, drawing a gasp from him. ‘Heh, you deserve so much more than me.’

        Then there was a shout from within the hotel room, shattering the fragile moment. It was Gladio, and he sounded upset.

        ‘Prompto? What the hell is this on your camera?’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gonna torture you all with one more chapter after this. Ugh what even are feelings.


	8. Can't Hurt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ardyn leaves a distasteful memento, and Prompto discovers that healing is never quite as simple as he'd like to believe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from the song of the same name by UNKLE
> 
> \----------  
> This chapter was actually the hardest to write. This is the dream that started this whole dark adventure. And I have to warn you, there is some moderate threat directed at a child in this chapter, and while it's not sexual, please be warned. It's not the nicest of things. But then, that's how these things often go.

The air went from calm to splinter-sharp in a matter of seconds. Prompto broke away from Noctis and dashed into the hotel room, the cold rush sending shivers across his skin.  
  
        Gladiolus and Ignis had stopped playing cards. One of the soda cans from their meal earlier was knocked over on the table, trace amounts of liquid pooling around it. Nobody had bothered to right it. Gladio was holding Prompto’s camera, his face a perfect picture of shock as he looked at the LCD display. Beside him, Ignis was looking no better.  
  
        ‘What? Why are you looking at my camera?’ Prompto raised his voice despite his blatant trembling.  
  
        ‘It doesn’t matter. But you’d better explain this, now.’ Gladio was gruff, and it was hard to tell if he was angry or not. He thrust the camera towards Prompto just as Noctis came bounding in behind him.  
  
        Prompto turned deathly pale. As he cast his eyes toward the camera, his chest constricted so tight that he was sure he was going to pass out.  
  
        Like he had done in the photo.  
  
        The picture was illuminated by one small light from the interior of a car. Ardyn’s car. But even with the low lighting, it was clear he was naked. His prone body looked lifeless, with his arms strung up above him, and his head cast to one side. Limp strands of hair clung to his cheeks and obscured his eyes. The bruises and marks on his pale skin were in full view, as were the flushed red traces of fingerprints around his throat, and most shamefully, the semi-erectness of his cock against his stomach. God, he looked vulgar.  
  
        Then he saw it: traced just above his cock was the outline of a heart, etched into his stomach with a fingernail. Ardyn hadn’t made that mark while he was awake; he would have felt it. And since he hadn’t noticed it at any point during showering or checking himself in the mirror afterwards, it must have only been hard enough to encourage blood to flush to the skin’s surface temporarily.  
  
        He was unconscious, completely powerless and on display. Marked like property. _Shit_. His chest pounded heavily. He could hear himself repeating ‘No,’ and it sounded dumb, but he didn’t care. This couldn’t be happening. His friends couldn’t see this, he’d rather die than have them look at that obscene image another second. He reached for the camera, an impulsive grabbing gesture that Gladio spotted a mile away. The camera was whipped out of the way and he clawed at nothing but air.  
  
        ‘Gladio! Give it back! No, please, you have to delete that!’ He cast a distressed look to Ignis. ‘Did you… did you tell him?’  
  
        Ignis shook his head, opened his mouth to speak. Gladio interrupted.  
          
        ‘Don’t blame him, I was the one who decided to look.’  
  
        ‘You could have asked me!’  
  
        Meanwhile Noctis was trying to get his attention. ‘Prom? What’s going on?’ Prompto shifted his attention to Noctis, trying not to register the pain in his friend’s voice. He could only lock eyes with him for a moment before the shame forced his head down.  
  
        There was silence for a short second, and it felt like forever. The patterned carpet had a weird mustard colour blended into it that he’d never noticed before. The air was incredibly warm.  
  
        ‘I’m… I’m sorry.’ Prompto covered his face with both hands, and breathed deep to stop the rising tears. ‘Please delete it. Please…’  
  
        ‘Wait, is that Ardyn’s scarf?’ Gladio was bristling.  
  
        ‘Gladio…’ Ignis’s attempt at berating him didn’t do much good.  
  
        ‘Prompto, c’mon! Answer me. It’s his scarf. And it’s his car too, isn’t it?’  
  
        He had no idea what to do. He started pleading again. Then Gladio swore.  
  
        ‘Oh, I can’t _fucking_ believe this.’  
  
         _This is it. This is the moment where everyone hates me._ Prompto knew this, but still he railed against the idea, he made his excuses.  
  
        ‘I didn’t want it! I didn’t even know he’d taken the picture!’ As he spoke, a small part of his mind marvelled at his dedication to defending himself. _I probably shouldn’t bother. And why didn't I check through the camera afterwards?_  
  
        Honestly, after the first candid snapshot of him on the rocks, he hadn’t expected another. But that just showed up what a fool he was - the fact Ardyn had done it once should have been a sign that he’d do it again. Prompto let a frenzied hiss escape his throat, and he dug his fingers into his cheeks. _You idiot, Prompto, you goddamn idiot._  
  
        And then the even more worrying thought - now that they knew, did this mean Ardyn was going to tell them about his Niflheim origins? Did Ardyn set him up? Or was the blackmailing just a ruse? It made no sense.  
  
        Gladio clenched his fist round the soda can so hard it crumpled like paper. Prompto flinched at the sound, and he was aware he was still repeating himself, but he didn’t know what to do; he was scared and everybody was just _staring_ at him like he’d done something wrong.  
  
        And, of course, he had done. He’d let this happen. Noctis had only just admitted he didn’t think he was dumb after all - now he’d have to take those words back.  
  
        The room span to such a degree that he sank down to the floor.  
  
        The carpet was scratchy but thick. Everything grew excessively loud, although he couldn’t describe how. He didn’t think anybody was actually talking. The sudden pressure around his body made him twitch but it was just Noctis, hugging him in a tight embrace.  
  
        ‘Hey. Shh. Don’t apologise. I’m the one that’s sorry, okay? _I_ am.’ Noctis was stroking his hair over and over, and his touch was all soft edges and love.  
  
        It was too much. He cried. The sobs came in body-wracking convulsions that were so strong even Noctis was rocked back and forth by them. Prompto could feel his mind drifting but that was okay. The noise filling his ears was so blubbering and wet. How strange it was that such a sound could come from a human being.  
  
        But then, he wasn’t really human, was he?  
  
        Ardyn would agree. Ardyn was here right now, of course. Prompto searched for him in the corners of his tightly closed eyes, where the borders of the thin film over reality lay. Would Ardyn seep through the gaps in Noct’s fingers and take over the grip on his shoulders, hold him down again? He choked on a sob. Maybe. But he wouldn’t fight this time, he didn’t deserve to. He carried on letting Noctis just hold him.  
  
        Gladio was saying something but he couldn’t hear properly - not only was he crying too loud, but Noctis had pressed the side of his face against his, muffling one ear.  
  
        ‘Seriously, Gladio,’ said Noctis, and he moved his head away from Prompto’s in order to speak better. ‘Leave him alone. He’s clearly not in a position to talk.’  
  
        Ignis stepped in.  
  
        ‘May I explain?’ He directed the question at Prompto, and added, ‘Don’t worry. If you say no, I’ll respect that.’  
  
        Those words felt nice. Prompto tasted the power they gave him, and he appreciated it. Unable to speak for fear of choking, he nodded back for Ignis to continue.  
      
        Gladio was still agitated. ‘I think it’s pretty damn clear what happened.’  
  
        ‘Hush, Gladio.’ Ignis put a hand on the bodyguard’s shoulder. ‘We’re all upset.’  
  
        Then Ignis explained, in short, terse sentences. He said the word Prompto was trying to deny, yet again, and it made Prompto bury his face in Noctis’s shoulder. Then Noctis started sobbing too and everything felt like a complete mess.  
  
        It took Prompto a long time to realise that Gladio was, in fact, not mad with him. It eventually twigged when he noticed Gladio was staring not at him, but at some indistinct point on the wall. His expression still screamed bloody murder, but then Prompto heard him say, ‘Next time I see him, he’s a dead man.’  
  
        Prompto didn’t agree, just in case Ardyn was listening.  
  
        ‘I shouldn’t have taken your camera,’ Gladio said after a while. ‘I’m sorry. I just wanted to see what you guys had been up to while I was gone.’  
  
        Noctis had been stroking Prompto’s hair again and the motion had grown calming enough for Prompto to manage a short response.  
  
        ‘It’s okay. I don’t blame you.’  
  
        ‘Still, I should’ve asked.’ Gladio heaved himself up from the armchair. ‘Well, how about we get you up off that floor? Don’t look too comfortable.’  
  
        Prompto nodded, and let both Gladio and Noctis lift him to his feet and guide him to the bed.  
  
        Ignis switched off the camera and stood up. ‘I think we could all use a drink, what do you say?’  
  
        ‘Fine by me. What about you, Prom?’ Noctis was doing a bad job of covering his distress as he spoke, and it killed Prompto to hear it. He just smiled and nodded in response.  
  
        ‘Make it something strong, Iggy.’ Gladio still sounded fiery, but it was bearable now that Prompto knew it wasn’t directed at him.  
  
         ‘I’ll be back in a minute.’ Ignis propped up his glasses and left the room.  
  
        The bedcovers felt softer than they had any right to be. Noctis helped him get settled, and Gladiolus patted him on the head, somehow managing to avoid being patronising about it. Nobody spoke until Ignis returned with the drinks - three cups of tea and one beer - and they started discussing what they were going to do about the situation. Prompto didn’t take part, not even passively. He was content to just lie there and phase out while the words washed over him.  
  
        He didn’t keep track of the time, but eventually Noctis moved closer to him, sitting on the edge of the bed, warily watching his reactions. When Prompto made no response, Noctis drew up his legs and wrapped his arms around his knees.  
  
        ‘We’re going to delete the photo,’ he said.  
  
        Prompto nodded. He said thank you but the sound never escaped his throat. Noctis reached out, held his hand again. At first Prompto remained trapped inside his own mind, then the warm of the touch cut through and he gripped back. Noctis’s eyes were misty, and his smile was sad, but there was something else there, and Prompto supposed it was hope. Noctis didn’t hate him. And that was enough for now.  
  
        Time expanded again, and Prompto let it stretch him out into infinity while his companions tried to regain a sense of normality. Ignis and Gladio started up the card game again, and Noctis stayed perched on the bed next to him, fussing him and making sure he was drinking enough.  
  
        Ignis threw down his hand. ‘Royal Flush! It would seem I’ve bested you again, Gladio.’  
  
        ‘Damn, Iggy. You’re savage.’ Gladio groaned into his near-empty beer bottle.  
      
        ‘And how many hours have you put into reading that Art of War book? You ought to be cognizant of my battle plans by now.’  
  
        ‘Maybe you should read something new, big guy.’ Prompto surprised himself by how clear his voice came out. It made him smile.  
  
        ‘Oh, not you too.’ Gladio groaned again, but he looked happy that Prompto had joined in.  
  
        Noctis yawned. ‘Ugh. Sleepy.’  
  
        ‘I’d say we’re all pretty exhausted.’ Ignis gathered up the cards. ‘It’s quite late, so I suggest we turn in now.’  
      
  
Prompto and Noctis always shared a bed at the Leville. It was just a matter of convenience. The hotel only seemed to deal in doubles, and besides, they were comfortable enough with each other. From the first drunken night out in college, crashing together at Prompto’s place - in Prompto’s _bed_ \- to the numerous nights spent at close quarters in the tent, this was really nothing out of the ordinary.  
  
        Once the lights were out, once stillness fell over the room, Prompto found it was comforting to have another body so close, especially minus the threat. Noctis had no motives other than sleeping, and when his back was turned, radiating a gentle heat through the covers, Prompto felt his own body relax.  
  
        That night, his dreams came to him slowly, amid a chorus of rising whispers. They didn’t come from inside his head, no, they started in his veins. That cold poison sinking in, seeping through his body like oil until he was entirely saturated in it. Then he was pulled under.  
  
        His surroundings resolved slowly, but it was so tangible he could feel the chill of the room - cold and clammy, so unlike the sultry heat of Lestallum. The room was dim. There were panels on the walls, uplit with a faint chrome-blue tint. It didn’t seem like the kind of place that many people would know about.    
  
        He tried to move, and found he couldn’t.  
      
         _Not again._ This was too much like the Gralea hallucination. For a second he believed it was true, that Ardyn had somehow taken him there for real. But it was different enough to make him believe it wasn’t the same place. The room was more enclosed, less grimy. More like a psychiatric room than a laboratory. No metal bars, just closed doors. Completely sealed, no windows. He could have been in a secret bunker hundreds of metres below ground for all he knew.  
  
        These restraints were different to those from Ardyn’s hallucination. His arms weren’t spread out either side of him, but above him, and at the slightest of angles. Was he tied to a pillar? He would have turned his head to check, but a strap around his neck prevented it.  
  
        He hated feeling confined like this. He hated that the tighter the restraints got, the more he looked for comfort between the cracks. There had to be a good reason he was here like this. Maybe this was necessary. Maybe this was someone’s fucked up way of saying they cared.  
  
       _No, it isn’t. Don’t be dumb._  
  
_But then how else will I get out? I must be good. I must try to understand why this is happening._  
  
        Nobody else was in the room, but he wasn’t entirely alone. There were whispers everywhere. He blocked them out at first, but he was fighting a rising tide.  
  
        Time passed and it felt like years. The whispers kept him company. It was strange, because he didn’t feel any desire to eat or defecate, and really, that should have been the first indication that this was a dream.  
  
        Then, after an age, the quality of the voices changed. They rose in sync with each other and bounced off the walls, ever growing in tone and tempo. He realised his veins were thrumming. This was a warning. Something was approaching.  
  
        There was a mechanical whirring. An elevator descending, stopping on a level with the room. One of the panels in the wall slid open and a voice laden with honey greeted him.  
  
        ‘Ah, my beloved experiment!’  
  
        Ardyn. The presence that slumbered both inside his mind and out, the source of the dark liquid coursing through his veins. The prickling on the back of his neck made manifest. In this light, Ardyn seemed all the more daemonic, and Prompto didn’t like the way his eyebrows angled so sharply when he gave no response. He had only been a few seconds in his presence and already he seemed to have irritated him. Ardyn sighed. ‘Well, are you not happy to see me?’  
  
        The restraints fell away. Prompto stumbled forward on ankles that could not support his own weight. He was so scared of messing up around Ardyn that he gave himself no space to cry out, instead forcing himself upright.  
  
        He moved over to Ardyn, and god, his limbs were _so_ stiff, it was difficult not to fuck up. But he tried his best. He reached him, and looked up, searching those deep amber eyes for a sign of compassion. He parted his lips ever so slightly, angled his eyebrows upward suggestively, reached his hands forward but didn’t touch. Never touch, no. He knew what he had to say.  
  
        ‘I am. I’m sorry. I’m so glad you came to see me.’  
  
        ‘In that case, I shall forgive you.’  
  
        Ardyn kissed him, and it was too brusque, too emotionally distant, despite the fact Ardyn seemed intent on laying claim to every inch of his mouth. The mottled fabric of Ardyn’s heavy coat enshrouded him, drew him in to the warmth of his breast. If not for the harsh grip on his hair, it would almost have been kind.  
  
        He was expecting to be pushed down, made to suck him off, or forced to pleasure him in myriad other ways. Something to make sense of the situation. But none of that happened. Ardyn stopped kissing him as abruptly as he’d started, stopped touching him entirely, and moved back just enough that there was an uncertain three inches remaining between them. He watched Prompto’s growing confusion with amusement. It really was just a game, one where Prompto had no idea what any of the rules were, one where he could never possibly win.  
  
        ‘I’ll do whatever you like,’ Prompto started to say, closing the distance between them and attempting a hesitant embrace. And it was no lie: he would have done anything just to increase his chances of being treated well. But Ardyn gripped his jaw and squeezed, rendered speech impossible.  
  
        ‘No. You’ll stay here and I’ll make use of you when I decide.’ Ardyn pushed him backwards by the jaw, sending him reeling. Ardyn moved further forward, allowing the door to slide shut behind him. Prompto recovered and stood up straight beside his pillar, waiting to see what would happen. He didn’t dare approach him again.  
  
        Ardyn drank him in, eyes bright with humour. Then he walked to the other end of the room and pressed a hidden switch in the wall. Another panel drew back, allowing a hidden compartment to rise from the ground. So this chamber had always existed? He’d been here for so long and he’d never realised.  
      
        The hidden chamber’s rise was slow, and was accompanied by a strange sound. After a while Prompto placed it as a high-pitched sobbing. Then, to his horror, he saw another, smaller figure tied to the pillar that extended from the platform’s center.  
  
         _Please, no._  
  
        It was himself, but as a young child. He was unmistakeable - the same golden hair, the freckles just starting to show through. The podgy belly and that damn green t-shirt that barely covered it. God, he really had been so fat. He watched in horror as Ardyn released the straps and pulled young Prompto from the device, grey coat sleeves grazing the child’s skin and making him blink in irritation.  
  
        No, this was all wrong. Prompto was a pro when it came to self-hatred, and he had no problems hating himself as he was now, but seeing that lonely child in front of him, so young yet so ready to turn in on himself, he felt nothing but a desperate empathy. _Hurt me, not him. Please, not him._  
  
        The child turned his chubby, tear-streaked face to older, skinnier Prompto and didn’t recognise him at all. _Of course. He hasn’t reached the age where he’s considered starving himself yet. How sad that that’s all yet to come._ Prompto found he couldn’t hold the child’s gaze. How could he? He was such a hypocrite to be scared of Ardyn when he was the one who’d ended up hurting himself the most.  
  
        He should run over, wrestle with Ardyn so the child could go free.  
  
        ‘I really wouldn’t do that if I were you.’  
  
        Ardyn was watching him, a faint smile playing on his lips.  
  
        ‘I didn’t… I wouldn’t…’ He trailed off. Why argue when not even his thoughts were private any more?  
  
        Meanwhile, Ardyn gripped young Prompto’s wrist hard, eliciting a pathetic squeak from the child. He dragged him towards the door, paying no attention to his protests, pushing and prodding him like he was a disobedient animal. Like he was livestock.  
  
        ‘What would have happened if you’d never left Niflheim, I wonder? Shall we find out?’  
  
        The child cried. Ardyn slapped him across the face, then pushed him out of the room.  
  
        ‘Stop! Please… whatever it is, just… just do it to me instead!’  
  
        Ardyn steadied the child with a harsh grip on his hair, then turned to Prompto.  
  
        ‘You are aware he _is_ you, correct? Well then, what’s the issue?’  
  
        And then they were gone, leaving Prompto alone once more in his panelled cell.  
  
         _What’s he doing to him?_  
  
_He’s doing it to you, in the end, so you should be able to remember._  
  
_Why can’t you remember? Have you blocked it out?_  
  
_Don’t think about the car._  
      
        Prompto tried to switch it round in his mind, so he was the one dragged outside the chamber, and the kid was safe inside. But the dream - if it was even a dream - didn’t want to give him that power. He was stuck, and again the whispers increased until they were clamouring for attention in violent shouts.  
  
        After a long interval, the door unlocked, and the whispers died away like the tail end scream of a firework. Ardyn pushed young Prompto into the room, and flashed a devilish glare towards the older Prompto, the _real_ one.  
  
        ‘He’s much more obedient than you. Whatever happened?’ Ardyn tutted, exaggerating his disappointment. With one hand caressing the back of young Prompto’s head, he led the child back to his cell at the other end of the room. The poor child was trying to suppress his whimpering, and Prompto could almost feel it in his own chest, the choked back sobs, the tension across his ribcage from holding it in.  
  
         _Please say Ardyn didn’t touch him. Like… like what I’m trying not to remember._  
  
        ‘Well, don’t you have a dirty mind.’ Ardyn had stopped, and was staring at him, eyebrows raised in faux-shock. Of course. He could read every thought. ‘Really now, that is a step too far.’ His lip curled: he evidently found this incredibly amusing. ‘Oh, no, if I had wanted _that_ , I would have taken the older model.’  
  
        The child began sobbing out loud now, unable to muffle the sound any longer. He rubbed his arm gingerly and Prompto instinctively stroked his own arm in tandem.  
  
        ‘What’s that? Did the injections hurt? Oh, don’t worry, child, it’s all part of the magitek process.’ Ardyn pulled the boy’s hand away, and took it upon himself to rub soft circles on his arm, soothing the redness where needles had clearly penetrated. Just watching him do this made Prompto release his grip on his own arm in disgust. Ardyn’s voice was so soft as he said, ‘Hush now. Stand still.’  
  
        Prompto wanted to feel angry, but instead he was struck with fear. The oil in his veins - no, that wasn’t allowed to become a reality. A deep-seated urge to flee rose up within him, and he realised something horrifying. His younger self was too weak and too slow, but himself as he was now, he was fast. He’d had plenty of practise running. And that meant he could save at least part of his psyche from this nightmare. But only if he left the child behind.  
  
        It didn’t feel much like a choice. He had to escape, and he had to do it before Ardyn saw this rebel thought and the chance was lost forever.  
  
        Ardyn was distracted, busy locking the child away, preparing to send him back below ground. Prompto felt the guilt burn in his belly for what he was about to do, but he ignored the sharp, searing pain, and he ran.  
  
        He was out the door before anything could stop him, and the elation at having made such a momentous step made him giddy, drunk on freedom. The elevator was surprisingly responsive, and didn’t seem to require an access code. The corridors were dark but he didn’t care; he used his hands to feel the walls, to push off from them and scramble past laboratory entrances, loading bays, storage rooms, anything and everything that stood in his way until he reached a staircase. Grimy steps led up to an unlocked door, and with that, he was free.  
  
        He emerged on the streets of Gralea. The sky was a dull grey, overcast with clouds that grazed the tops of buildings, obscuring them from view. People milled about while cars honked their horns and hustled for parking spots. Everyone was oblivious to his presence.  
  
        The smell was overwhelming. Oil and grease from the crowded vehicles, and the burnt-carbon tang of street food vendors abusing their grills. This wasn’t the nice part of Gralea. This was closer to where his mother used to live. He didn’t really remember it much, he had been too young when his mother had fled the city with him, and so his brain filled in the details with the poorer parts of Insomnia. But the overall vibe was there. The heaviness to the air in the streets. The disconnectedness of the people living beneath those gloomy skies.  
  
        He was glad for the sense of invisibility this gave him, because he had to be quick. Ardyn would probably be hot on his tail any minute. He dashed down a side road, narrowly avoiding a cluster of bins overflowing with rubbish.  
  
        The thing everyone always got wrong about running away, especially in movies, was that they didn’t run far enough. They always stopped at some point. Prompto didn’t stop. He dashed down street after street, heading away from the centre, making sure the taller buildings were always at his back.  
  
        He had just turned around what was perhaps the fifteenth street corner when he spotted it. A maroon convertible inching round the corner just a block away, its white racing stripe unmistakeable against the dull city hues. It somehow blended in well with the other cars, moving at a pace that allowed its driver time to search the streets without being too blatant about the kerb-crawling.  
      
        The car’s top was down and he could see Ardyn in the front seat, hair brushing across his face as he turned right and left, searching intently. He could almost feel the man’s gaze lance out in his direction, like it was something palpable, something physical, and he hid down the nearest side-street he could find. Forgotten newspapers crunched beneath his feet, made him skid as he lunged for the safety of darkness.  
  
        Ardyn must have seen him, because there was the distinct sound of a car revving. God, no. Keep moving.  
  
        After a while he gave up all pretense of trying not to make his flight so obvious. He ran at full pelt, ignoring the looks he got as he bumped into shopping bags and almost knocked people over. Thanks to the isolated atmosphere of the city, he had truly been invisible up until now, but there was no hope of keeping that up if he wanted to escape.  
  
        He sprinted with all his strength, panicking at every turn, dreading ambushes and dead ends. Hours went by and somehow he didn’t tire. It had to be a dream. It had to, because somehow he had reached the city outskirts. Streets and lackluster brick buildings gave way to dying grass and broken wooden fences. There were trees visible now in the distance.  
  
        The trees were perfect. He continued down along the road, boots kicking up mud. The pale grey sky turned dark behind him and soon he was racing against the growing shadows. Night overtook him as he stumbled through bracken and hopped over tree stumps. He could hardly see, but he had to keep going.  
  
        Nobody had passed by him for a long time. Out here, he was completely alone. The temptation to stop was strong, and his lungs were so strained from the effort, but he resisted.  
  
        Eventually, down a hill and into a valley, he came to a small village. The same brick houses as found in the city lined rustic streets, and it seemed so out of place. The house at the end was the strangest, and he soon recognised it as his adoptive parents’ home, plucked straight out of the city of Insomnia and dropped into this village scene in the Niflheim countryside like it was no big deal.  
  
        His heart pounded and he ran towards it, hammered on the door.  
  
        They would save him, right? They had to.  
  
        The door opened and his adoptive parents greeted him. The strangest thing was that they had no faces. His brain just cut that bit out, like it was a corrupted image on a camera. All that existed above the neck was a strange white fuzz, but somehow it wasn’t disconcerting. He fell into his mother’s arms, and she was far kinder than she had been in reality, fussing over him, petting his hair, telling him all the things he wished she’d said a long time ago.  
  
        ‘My poor baby, it’s okay. Shh, dry your eyes. We’ll protect you.’  
  
        Her voice was so warm he didn’t even care that the words sounded scripted.  
  
        ‘Can I… can I stay with you?’  
  
        ‘Of course.’ His father embraced him too, then they led him through to the kitchen, where a mug of tea and a small supper was waiting.  
  
        Why weren’t they ever this nice in the past?  
  
        He didn’t bother to ask why they had Ignis’s favourite brand of tea. It was probably a popular brand. He wouldn’t know. He just accepted it, along with the food, which also looked suspiciously like one of Ignis’s fried fish sandwiches.  
  
        He was to sleep in his parents’ room. They fussed over him some more, and finally, once they had closed the door and the silence enveloped him again, he wondered where they were sleeping. In his tiny old room? Not likely. It didn’t matter too much. He felt safe enough knowing they were here.  
      
        Prompto kicked off his shoes and lay down on the double bed, spreading his body out and staring at the ornate curtains. They weren’t closed, and they revealed a wide, semi-circular array of window panes that jutted outward from the house, providing a panoramic view of the moonlit garden.  
  
        His belly was full, the bed was soft, and his parents were protecting him. This was good. He could finally relax.  
  
        The silence grew, and the chattering at his nerves returned. It happened slowly at first, then before he could make sense of it, the nausea in his stomach had dipped hard and he nearly threw up. Something was coming. There was an incessant scratching and his eyes flickered around the room, looking for its source.  
  
        The window?  
  
        He sat upright. When his eyes reached the windowpane on the far right, the one closest to him, he flinched.  
  
         _No_.  
  
        Ardyn was at the window, lazily dragging a finger down the glass, smiling like he had been reunited with a long-lost friend. He looked genuinely overjoyed; no hint of malice or contempt.  
  
        A lump rose in Prompto’s throat, exploded bile and half-digested food into his mouth. He barely kept it from spilling out, and he saw Ardyn start to laugh, heard the muffled sound of it through the glass.  
  
        His brain had to be messing with him.  
  
        Right?  
  
        Ardyn lifted his hand back from the window, waited an agonising moment, just long enough to give Prompto more doubts on the realness of the situation, then he shattered all his hopes by walking through the glass like it was mist. His boots were heavy; he was truly present in the room. Prompto yelled, but his parents didn’t come to his rescue. The walls started to blacken out and drop away. The bed lilted and Prompto jumped off, only to be pulled back towards it by Ardyn.  
  
        Why wasn’t Ardyn speaking? That voice was his favourite weapon and he always teased, always said something sarcastic. So why the silence?  
  
         _This isn’t real._  
  
        It might as well have been real because Ardyn was once again holding him down, tongue abusing his mouth, erection grinding against his leg, hands running up and down his chest. Prompto hissed against the man’s lips and tried to push him away in a frenzy when fingers traced the outline of a heart across his stomach. Darkness was filling up every space within his body, exploring every cavity and making his own erection rise. Ardyn ran his hands across that too, then gripped hard on his shaft, making it abundantly clear that he was in control. _Why_ did it feel good? He didn’t want it to feel good. Ardyn finally spoke, but only to reiterate what he had said during their last encounter.  
  
       _I own you._  
  
        With those words in his ears, Prompto lost track of where the ground was. Shadows had now completely covered the place where the ceiling should be. The bed was just a mass of writhing thoughts and he was falling deeper into them while the personification of fear with his golden eyes and his daemon smile held him down with a grip like iron. Prompto’s heart was beating so fast, pounding like it was about to rupture, and he could barely breathe, let alone speak. He grew dizzy; his head span and he wondered if this was what a heart attack felt like. Then came a flash like a camera going off, and everything vanished.  
  
  
Prompto sat bolt upright, clutching his chest. Had it stopped? _Please say it’s stopped._ He couldn’t make sense of the ceiling, and the shape of the room was alien. It took a moment, just a moment, and then it became clear. He was in Lestallum, sitting on sweat-soaked bedsheets at the Leville Hotel. Noctis was snoring lightly beside him, breaths heaving the covers up and down gently.  
      
        Prompto covered his face with both hands, tried to calm his own harsh breathing. The shock slowly subsided from his chest, and he lay down again, his back shuddering with tension.  
  
        ‘You okay?’ The voice was gruff and low.  
  
        Prompto’s first reaction was to panic.  
  
         _Chill, it’s only Gladio._  
  
        ‘Uh, yeah. Sorry if I woke you.’  
  
        The street lights illuminated the room just enough that he could see Gladio, propped up on his elbows, on the nearby bed. It looked as though his eyebrows were furrowed, and the tensed curves of his biceps were visible in the half-light. Gladio snorted.  
  
        ‘Don’t apologise. You sounded like you were having a bad dream.’  
  
        ‘I’m not so sure it was a dream.’  
  
        ‘Whaddya mean?’  
  
        ‘I don’t know. It… wasn’t great.’ Prompto gave up trying to explain it, because it meant he’d have to talk about Ardyn’s Gralea hallucination too. So instead he relaxed back into the pillow, and looked up at the swirling patterns on the ceiling. Every second allowed his eyes more time to adjust, and he wasn’t sure whether getting used to the darkness was a good thing or not. He let out a slow sigh. ‘Gladio, what am I supposed to do? I can’t get him out of my head.’  
  
        ‘Healing doesn’t just happen like that, kid.’ Gladio sounded sad. They held silence together for a bit longer, then Gladio looked across at him. ‘You _are_ worth it, you know. You’re one of us. Always gonna be.’  
  
        The words were meant kindly enough, but Prompto couldn’t help biting his lip. Gladiolus didn’t know about him, about Niflheim. He was so deathly scared that his opinion would change. And if Ardyn told him now…  
  
        He didn’t realise he was twisting the covers up in his fingers until Gladio told him to stop.  
  
        ‘You’ve been beaten up enough. Don’t you go about joining in. Okay?’  
  
        ‘Yeah.’ Prompto sighed again, and smoothed out the covers. ‘Gladio? Thanks. For talking to me. I mean, I don’t want to go on about this. I want it to be over. I want to… to get back to how things were. Like, right now.’  
  
        ‘It’ll take a while. But we’ll be with you. We’ll make this right.’ Gladio shifted position. ‘Don’t feel guilty. And, uh, just wake me up again if you have any more nightmares.’  
  
        ‘Okay. Thanks.’  
  
        Gladio settled back to sleep. Prompto stared at the ceiling a while longer, the warmth from the conversation settling in his chest, giving him some semblance of peace. Then he turned over and prodded Noctis’s shoulder until the prince grunted and turned to face him, half-awake and bemused. He quietly asked for a hug, and he heard Noctis’s throat choke up before he replied yes, of course, anything for him. Nestled back into the crook of Noctis’s shoulder, Prompto let himself drift back to sleep. Noctis cared. Gladio and Ignis cared. That may change one day, but for now, at least, it made things okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is it. The end of the journey has been reached.
> 
> I'm planning on extending this series - set a little later in the game storyline next time. And in between that we'll have a short interlude where Noctis treats Prompto to a grand day out. Lots of hugs all round, and all of that soft stuff which I'm generally terrible at writing. I promise.


End file.
